Zero Plus
by GallyGee
Summary: Follows directly on from 'Zero Hour'. On their return to Earth, the crew find a different world. Chapter 19 now up.COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: the characters and Universe of Star Trek do not belong to me. I've received no financial gain from this story.  
  
A/N: The story follows on immediately from the end of 'Zero Hour', but it isn't necessary to have seen the episode to follow the story. I've avoided all speculation and spoilers for Season 4 so this is bound to be AU.  
  
Constructive criticism welcomed.  
  
Spoilers: 'Countdown', 'Zero Hour'.

* * *

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**Zero Plus**  
  
**Chapter 1**  
  
"What the hell...?!" cried Trip as the tracer bullets whipped past the descending shuttlepod, rattling harmlessly against the hull. He caught a brief glimpse of their source... old-fashioned fighter planes?!  
  
Travis had already reacted and pulled the shuttlepod up into a steep climb, arrowing away from the glittering expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The shuttlepod easily outdistanced and out maneuvered the slower aircraft. By the time the planes had banked around for another pass, the shuttlepod had vanished from their sight.  
  
"Travis, did you see what I saw?" asked Trip, eyes wide in disbelief. He had to be hallucinating... didn't he?  
  
"Uh huh," agreed Travis, checking for pursuit on his displays but finding none. He turned to the Commander. "Those were piston aircraft; World War 2 vintage at a guess."  
  
Trip ran a hand over his head. "This is screwy. What were they doing there?"  
  
Travis had no answer. He checked his display again. "They're not following us. If they're authentic, we are well out of their reach."  
  
Leaning forward to check for himself, Trip could see the heavens were empty again. In the window, indigo shaded into inky black as they reached the outer atmosphere. Now that was odd too. They hadn't come across any orbital or sub-orbital vessels. There should be significant traffic. A chill settled over Trip. Something was very, very wrong. "Travis... run a few surface scans and match 'em up with the latest maps."  
  
As Travis moved to comply, Trip opened a comm channel. "Tucker to Enterprise."  
  
_"Go ahead, Commander,"_ came T'Pol's immediate response.  
  
"We've made contact," said Trip, pausing as he wondered how he was going to report this. He locked eyes with Travis who shrugged.  
  
_"What does Starfleet instruct we do?"_  
  
"Well, it wasn't Starfleet we made contact with. We couldn't raise them. It was a squadron of aircraft... World War 2 fighter aircraft."  
  
There was the briefest pause as T'Pol took in this unexpected information. _"Explain."_  
  
Trip gave a shaky laugh. "I wish I could, T'Pol."  
  
Malcolm's voice cut into the conversation. _"Could they be part of some historical re-enactment, Commander?"  
_  
Trip gave a mirthless smile. "Well, if they were, it was complete in every detail, down to the tracer fire!"  
  
T'Pol said, _"They fired on you?"_  
  
Trip could hear Malcolm's startled grunt in the background.  
  
"Yeah. No damage though. We didn't make voice contact."  
  
There was silence as everyone considered the situation. Travis turned to Trip. "Commander, I've got the comparison results up."  
  
Trip steeled himself. "Sonofa..." he breathed as he took in the incredible but undeniable results. He coughed, and cleared his throat. "T'Pol, you better see this. I'm transmitting the results now." He gave a quick nod to Travis who tapped the send button.  
  
_"On main viewscreen,"_ ordered T'Pol.  
  
The crew on Enterprise's bridge and the two men on the shuttlepod gazed at the overlay.  
  
_"Well,"_ said Malcolm eventually, his voice strained, _" I can't believe there would have been that many changes since we were last home. There's certainly some correlation, but significant areas are different."  
_  
_"Yes," _agreed T'Pol._ "For example, the Vulcan compound is absent."  
_  
_"And Starfleet Headquarters,"_ added Malcolm.  
  
Trip put into words what most of them feared. "D'you think we've traveled back in time? Perhaps something happened when we destroyed the sphere."  
  
"No, Commander," said Travis emphatically. "The star charts were totally accurate. I would know if we had somehow ended up in the past."  
  
T'Pol said, _"Commander. You should return to Enterprise and we will consider these results in more detail."  
_  
Biting his lower lip, Trip thought for a moment. "Actually, T'Pol, I think Travis and I should go down again. We need more information - not just changes in the city layout. We're not going to make any progress from high orbit."  
  
T'Pol made an instant decision. _"Very well, but remain in contact with Enterprise. Until we understand what has happened, it would be prudent to avoid detection."  
_  
"We'll certainly do our best," said Trip with a grin. "Tucker out." He closed the channel. "Okay, Travis, let's try this again. We'll take some mid-level orbital passes around the planet and then come in lower -somewhere where there isn't much activity."  
  
"Understood, Sir," said Travis, leveling out the shuttlepod.

--------------------

He was in pain - shooting agonies throughout his entire body. Through the haze of confusion, he groaned, but the sound he heard was far away. His throat was raspingly dry. He could see blurry shapes, areas of light amid dullness but could resolve nothing concrete. He groaned again as a slight movement of his right leg caused intense jarring running down his side.  
  
He was so thirsty. 'Water' he tried to say, but no sound reached his lips. Only the enduring pain was real.  
  
A low murmuring - a jumble of noises - they made no sense.  
  
More agonies consumed him and he lost consciousness.

---------------------

The remaining senior staff - T'Pol, Malcolm and Phlox - bolstered by Lieutenant Hess representing Engineering - stood around the console in the situation room. Hoshi had insisted she was in good enough shape to take part and was perched on a seat at one end. Phlox was keeping a close eye on her. Recovery from the torture inflicted by the Xindi Reptilians was proceeding more slowly than he had hoped. She tired easily and found concentration difficult. Still, being an active member of the crew would give her a reason to fight for her health, so Phlox had approved her attendance at this meeting. He had observed with interest the great part the mind played in healing the human frame. For a non-telepathic race, it was remarkable. They were stronger and more resilient than he ever would have thought before embarking on this mission.  
  
"These are the more comprehensive scans we have now received from Shuttlepod 1," said T'Pol, setting the animated display running. As Trip and Travis continued their sortie, data was continuously added in, increasing the coverage and amount of detail.  
  
"The land masses are odd," commented Malcolm. "Mostly they conform to what we know but..." he put out a finger to freeze the display, "...here - this isn't right." He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  
  
Hoshi said in a quiet, flat voice, "They are correct, if you go back a couple of hundred years."  
  
Glancing over to Hoshi, Malcolm saw with concern that she had become even paler, if that were possible. He leaned back and crossed his arms, "But Travis said we hadn't moved through time."  
  
"That is correct, Lieutenant," confirmed T'Pol. "I have analyzed the star fields and they are in agreement with what we would expect to see in our own time, as Ensign Mayweather reported."  
  
"Then I don't understand," said Malcolm frowning. "This doesn't make sense."  
  
"It does," whispered Hoshi, her attention fixed on the frozen display, "if you assume World War 3 never happened."  
  
The humans around the table looked at one another in shock. Phlox remained inscrutable and T'Pol merely nodded. "That is my initial conclusion, also, Ensign," she said in measured tones.  
  
Malcolm gave a little noise of protest. Raising an eyebrow, T'Pol said, "That is the logical conclusion."  
  
"But how can that be? We haven't gone back in time, but World War 3 hasn't happened yet!" exclaimed Malcolm.  
  
"I would postulate that either the timeline has been altered or possibly we have been thrown into a parallel universe."  
  
"One in which World War 3 never happened," said Malcolm, trying to get to grips with this strange concept.  
  
"Correct. I believe that when we destroyed Sphere 41, and with it the Expanse, the resulting sudden change in the space-time fabric caused a catastrophic breakdown of our surrounding space and took Enterprise into this new... condition."  
  
No one spoke for several minutes. They had thought they were home at last, but now, it had all been turned on end.  
  
Hess choked out what they were all thinking. "Does this mean, we won't be able to get home?" she turned fierce eyes on T'Pol, willing her to provide some comfort.  
  
T'Pol looked at her and then at her other crewmates.  
  
"I do not know," T'Pol admitted. "If my hypothesis is correct, the process required a huge amount of energy released from a vast region of space returning to a normal state from that of the Sphere Builders realm. Even if we determine exactly what has happened, it may prove... difficult... to replicate that."  
  
"Bloody impossible," muttered Malcolm, rubbing his hand across his chin. Hess nodded. They both knew what energy levels might conceivably be required to reverse the process. How could they hope to replicate the Sphere Builders efforts?  
  
T'Pol said, "Not necessarily. We do not know. We must gather more data."  
  
Malcolm sighed. "We need to know exactly what we are dealing with before we can do anything about it."  
  
"Correct, Lieutenant." T'Pol swept her gaze around her fellow officers. "Our first priority is to determine what has happened. We should not allow ourselves to become... distracted from that goal by unfruitful speculation."  
  
The others all nodded. They tried to push back the overwhelming worries and concentrate on their immediate goal.  
  
T'Pol said, "I will make an announcement to the rest of the crew."

* * *

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: I've changed the formatting for the comm traffic as suggested. I had included those arrow symbols to indicate it but hadn't realized they don't show. Sorry about that! When I'm feeling brave I'll re-format Chapter 1 as well. (Done but absolute nightmare.)

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**Chapter 2**

It was different, mused Trip as he monitored the accumulating data, surveying your own planet. He had always enjoyed exploring new worlds, but this was downright creepy. Familiar yet not quite right.  
  
The shuttlepod soared over a recognizably Earth-like landscape - a rare sight in the Universe. Trip had visited more planets than he had ever dreamed of and with a few notable exceptions they were eerily distinct. Unmistakably alien. But this was Earth. There was no getting away from the matter. It just wasn't the Earth he knew.  
  
His attention was pulled once more back to the image of Florida. This was also an Earth that no Xindi probe had attacked.  
  
He shivered. T'Pol's analysis of their situation was quite incredible but he could come up with no scenarios which were any more believable. But then, given what he had seen in his time on Enterprise, it wasn't safe to assume anything was impossible.  
  
Trip tried to abandon the pondering on what might be and concentrate on the immediate requirements.  
  
Shuttlepod 1 had completed the sweeps over the North American and Eurasian continents. The passes had not shown any signs of activities at high or mid level altitudes. The surface of the planet was well populated. Towns and cities largely corresponded to those with which the Enterprise crew were familiar, that is, if one accepted that the ravages of the last world war had not happened. However, on a detailed level the mismatches were obvious. And there was the fighting they saw. Battlefields.  
  
Trip and Travis debated their next move. Any sensor grid matching the aircraft's era of technology wouldn't see them - or so they thought. But there were too many unanswered questions to be certain of that. They couldn't fly any lower without risking detection.  
  
Trip said thoughtfully, "So - do we return to the ship or land?"  
  
"If I'm careful, I'm reasonably sure I could put down without being spotted from the ground," said Travis, studying the data. If he went in on a steep approach path and they scanned the landing spot to ensure there was nobody nearby, it was possible.  
  
Trip gazed pensively at him. "I don't know, Travis. We don't want to make contact with anyone, at least until we know what we are dealing with." Then he gave a short laugh. "On the other hand, we won't know what we are dealing with unless we land. We've got lots of data but I don't think it's enough."  
  
Travis said, "What about here? Eastern North America? There's cover in this area - low hills, wooded." He pointed to a dark colored part of the map. "We could conceal the shuttlepod here, and survey this area on foot."  
  
Trip made his decision. "Okay - we'll land. We'll keep a constant lookout. Our scanners will pick up anyone well before they see us. If we put down near that town, there, we could observe from a distance... hide in these trees here."  
  
Travis nodded enthusiastically in agreement.  
  
Trip wondered if T'Pol's logic would agree with his. He opened a comm channel to Enterprise. "Tucker to T'Pol."  
  
_"Go ahead, Commander,"_ said T'Pol.  
  
"We're going to land."  
  
_"That may not be wise."_  
  
"We need to see what's going on down there from close up. We need all the information we can get. Our scanners will make sure we stay out of everyone's way. I'm sending the landing co-ordinates now."  
  
There was a pause as T'Pol considered the plan. _"Very well. Stay in communication with Enterprise."  
_  
"Understood." Trip took a deep breath. "Take us down, then, Travis."  
  
-------------------------  
  
Jonathan Archer became conscious, creeping awareness drawing him to a higher level. He was having trouble seeing clearly and his throat was raw sandblasted agony. He noted sounds... people talking... but couldn't distinguish individual words in the white noise that filled his ears.  
  
He realized he didn't know who he was, what had happened... panic engulfed him. What was happening? He tried to move, to discover...  
  
Calm. Stay calm. Concentrate on seeing, he told himself. It'll be okay....  
  
He screwed up his eyes and made out human forms around him, wearing uniforms. They gave him an uneasy feeling, somewhere deep down inside found this disturbing. Why? He didn't know.  
  
Another shape resolved itself more fully as it stepped towards him. An alien, he noted, without surprise. Wearing the same uniform.  
  
They were talking to him.  
  
"What?" he tried to say. "What are you saying? Who are you?" His struggle was useless. No words emerged. Exhausted, he collapsed back down onto the bed, fighting panic.  
  
----------------------  
  
Everyone on Enterprise's bridge was feverishly working at their assigned tasks.  
  
Hoshi bit her lip in frustration. She was still shaky and at inopportune moments she found her mind reaching back to those terrors suffered on the Reptilian ship. Then she would come to with a start. She hated that. Hated that now, when she was needed most, she found it impossible to direct her full potential onto the problem.  
  
She changed the frequency band, sharpened it, boosted the gain, and tried again. It was odd. From the information that had been relayed back to the ship, there was a certain level of technical expertise on the planet. From her understanding of their historical period corresponding to this new reality, there should have been plenty of signal traffic of all kinds flooding the ether. But there was next to nothing.  
  
She slammed her hand down on her console, not really caring any more what anyone else might think.  
  
T'Pol said, all too calmly for Hoshi's liking, "Is there a problem, Ensign?"  
  
Yes, Hoshi wanted to shout. Yes, there damned well is. I'm useless. I can't do it anymore. There's nothing left.  
  
Instead, she merely gulped, dropped her head and drew her open palm into a fist.  
  
"Ensign Sato," repeated T'Pol. "Hoshi - What progress have you made?"  
  
Hoshi sat up and turned to face her, conscious that most of the others on the bridge were also waiting for her reply. She said, "I've tried everything I can. There are some transmissions, but at extremely low power. There appear to be broadcast signals but not much two-way traffic. And it's all audio." She shook her head. "It's not what I would expect. I'm worried I might be missing something."  
  
From his station on the other side of the bridge, Malcolm said meditatively, "It may not be all your fault."  
  
Hoshi rolled her eyes. She thought sarcastically, 'Thanks for that vote of confidence, Lieutenant!'  
  
Malcolm carried on, oblivious to Hoshi's expression, "There is something out of kilter with the weaponry too."  
  
"Explain," said T'Pol as he gathered his thoughts.  
  
Malcolm grimaced at her unnecessary prompt. "Well, these people appear to be using World War 2 era aircraft, armaments and so forth, yet we think that they are contemporary with us. The shuttlepod's scans showed some regions of active warfare. Have they been fighting the second war for all that time?"  
  
T'Pol gave a grave nod. "That is possible."  
  
"Then," pursued Malcolm, "why is their weapon development stuck at that one point in time? Normally, wartime sees rapid development in arms and associated technology. All efforts go into it. It has top priority. In our own timeline, World War 2 yielded for example, radar, sonar, long range rockets, jet aircraft and the first atomic weapons. Why haven't we seen this and beyond?" He frowned at the conundrum.  
  
"Possibly they have this technology but we haven't detected it," said T'Pol, considering the point.  
  
"But the aircraft that intercepted the shuttlepod - Travis said they were piston driven. If these people have been at war for over a two hundred years, they surely would have progressed beyond that?"  
  
"Perhaps their infrastructure has deteriorated, or they have materials' shortages."  
  
"Perhaps," repeated Malcolm, not convinced.  
  
"Commander Tucker may find some reason for this from his investigations on the surface."  
  
Malcolm gazed thoughtfully into space then returned his attention to his station.  
  
Feeling a little less stupid, Hoshi returned to her task also, determined to make the most of what sparse data she could obtain.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Travis brought the shuttlepod down in a cautious approach, circling above cloud cover over their chosen landing area to allow thorough scans.  
  
"Nothing," confirmed Trip. "No human bio-signs or other activity. We should be okay here. Take us in."  
  
"Aye, Commander," acknowledged Travis, setting the nose on a downward path to aim for a conveniently shuttlepod-sized depression. The small craft settled with the slightest jolt nestling in some low bushes.  
  
Trip reported back to Enterprise and then pulled out a pair of scanners and phase pistols from a locker. "We better set the scanners on maximum range."  
  
"What happens if we do actually bump into someone?" asked Travis as he checked the charge on his weapon. "Should we stun them?"  
  
"You sound like Malcolm! No - let's play it by ear. We might be able to bluff our way out. We'll say we are on a hiking trip or something."  
  
"Uh huh. What about our uniforms?"  
  
"Mmm. Good point..." mused Trip. They hadn't got a change of clothes. Perhaps they should return to the ship to get changed into casual gear? He was impatient to get going, though. Speed could be vital.  
  
"We could say that 'Enterprise' is a wildlife project?" offered Travis. "We could say that we are Rangers."  
  
Trip looked at him speculatively. That was inventive. Plausible? Possibly. He had seen Rangers dressed in similar gear on his last trip to a national park. It was likely to be a moot point, in any event. "Yeah. That might work. The best method would be to steer clear of any people. If we're careful, that shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"All set?"  
  
"Yes, Commander."  
  
"Let's go then!"  
  
The two men stepped out of the shuttlepod onto the ground of what, possibly, could be the home planet of one of them and the spiritual home, at least in part, of the other. Trip wanted to feel relief at finding himself on Earth, an Earth saved from the Xindi attack, but he couldn't. This was not his home, whatever Travis' star charts said.  
  
Trip cautiously scanned the immediate surroundings while Travis secured the shuttlepod. Clear - no human lifesigns for some distance. He squinted up at the sky. The clouds were breaking up and the afternoon daylight brightened, although it was cool for a summer's day. Travis had cut a leafy branch using his phase pistol and pulled it over the nose of the craft. Trip joined him in camouflaging the shuttlepod and soon it was hidden from any casual passer by.  
  
They set off towards the nearest settlement, a small sized community on the far side of the wooded area. Lifeforms were plentiful along their route but none were human, only deer, squirrels and other animals that hid from their approach.  
  
After ten minutes walk from the landing site, Trip and Travis reached the edge of the woodland. The vegetation thinned out ahead of them where there was a small gently sloping hill. The two men checked their scanners, a task which they had been doing regularly. It was still clear. They crept up the rise and dropped down on their fronts at its summit.  
  
The other side of the hill fell gradually away to a plain. The township was mainly comprised of low-rise buildings distributed in blocks. They could see several roads. Trip saw a truck and several jeep-type vehicles, but there was little traffic. A few youths cycled across an intersection. It was difficult to believe that this was the year 2154.  
  
Trip grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Travis, this is just like it would be hundreds of years ago. There are no signs of any progress at all." He grunted and tweaked his scanner to alter its setting. "I've got no readings that would indicate technology. We should see some signs of technological development. How are they generating their power?"  
  
Travis checked his own scanner. Still no nearby human signs. "Perhaps we just can't detect anything from here?"  
  
"We should detect something at this range." Trip frowned at the peaceful scene before them. He changed his scanner mode back to lifesigns with a small shake of his head.  
  
Travis followed the progress of an old fashioned bus as it pulled out of a bay. "These vehicles seem to be driven by internal combustion engines. That ties in with the aircraft we saw, doesn't it?"  
"Yeah." Trip, shifting to find a more comfortable position. He had never been that strong on general history, but engineering advancements were another matter. "We won't find out anything from here," he said, watching as a woman left a store and walked down a street. "We'll circle around and come in from the east. There's more cover there. I'd like to get a closer look at that engineering place on the edge of the town."  
  
Trip flipped his communicator open to report back to Enterprise, checking his scanner as he did so - still no sign of potential contacts. Then he heard a rustling behind them. Strange... no animal registered on his scanner. He twisted around to check it out visually.  
  
He had the barest instant to gasp in astonishment before he was rendered unconscious. Travis didn't even have time to notice anything was amiss before he joined his fellow officer, slumped on the ground.

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TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

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**Chapter 3**  
  
"What's happened?" rapped out Malcolm without preamble as he returned to the bridge.  
  
Ensign Walsh manning the science station said falteringly, "Sir, I've lost them."  
  
"Lost them? How?"  
  
"I was tracking their bio-signs, then they just... disappeared." He looked as if he might cry. "Sir... are they...?"  
  
"It could be anything, Ensign," said Malcolm, activating the comm channel. "T'Pol to the bridge."  
  
Walsh sat frozen, not wanting to believe what he had witnessed. But it was undeniable. He jumped as Malcolm's voice penetrated his despair.  
  
"Ensign. Ensign Walsh. Did you hear what I just said? Transfer the readings to the situation room. Come on, we haven't got all day!"  
  
"Uhh. Yessir," said Walsh, fingers flying to carry out the order.  
  
Malcolm had some sympathy for the young man but now was not the moment to indulge in 'fruitless speculation' as T'Pol would term it. Time was of the essence. Malcolm strode over to the display table and brought up the bio-scan history, setting it to playback. Two red dots pulsed vigorously. They were stationary, located at the brow of a small hill. Then they simultaneously extinguished. That was not good. He bit his bottom lip, clamping down on his alarm. He ran the self-test program - an automatic response. Everything seemed to be in order.  
  
T'Pol arrived from the command center where she had been analyzing data they had collected. In silence Malcolm replayed the log. She didn't need to ask what it depicted. Noting the time stamp, she considered what possibilities could lead to these results.  
  
T'Pol was aware of Malcolm's gaze on her. She met the concerned man's eyes and said, "Have you examined the sensors for malfunction?"  
  
"Yes. They seem to be working."  
  
"Carry out another check."  
  
Malcolm gave a curt nod and sent the request to Walsh's station. He said to T'Pol, "And what if it isn't a malfunction?"  
  
T'Pol called on a calming meditation exercise, purging all trace of emotion. It took more effort than it should to reach the required state. Then, her control firm, T'Pol said carefully, "Their lifesigns may be masked or they may have... ceased."  
  
Malcolm gave a sharp intake of breath. "Which do you think?" The words were level in tone, but greatly stressed. He grasped the edge of the display table as if it were an anchor holding him fast.  
  
T'Pol had insufficient data to form an opinion. She remained silent, considering the point.  
  
"T'Pol, what do you think is likely?" repeated Malcolm, eyes alive with some emotion T'Pol could not identify. From their situation, she would expect that it was... anxiety, possibly. She saw his knuckles show white through his skin.  
  
"What is the status of the shuttlepod?" she asked.  
  
Malcolm wasted no time in asking why she wanted to know. He almost ran to the tactical station, at present manned by one of his armory team. He ignored the crewman and focused his sensors in on the region. Nothing! No trace at all. "It's not showing up!" he called over to T'Pol. He enabled access to the data from the display table. He rejoined T'Pol in the situation room and opened the sensor memory store.  
  
Together they reviewed the sensor log. The shuttlepod signature was like a beacon. Unmistakable. Then it simply vanished - at the same time stamp as when the bio-signs blinked out.  
  
"No evidence of any weapons fire," muttered Malcolm as he studied the readings.  
  
T'Pol said, "Possibly someone, or something, has created a shielding barrier encompassing the craft and our crewmates. However, given the evidence we have of the planet's inhabitants' technological development, the capability to block our sensors would be anomalous." T'Pol thought a moment then added, "There might be some naturally shielding material in the vicinity, although that is a less probable explanation as the shuttlepod did not appear to be moving."  
  
Malcolm pursed his lips, then leant over and brought up the surface display, zooming out to show the township and a wider region around it. He pointed to a built up area. "This is the town that Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather were observing."  
  
He examined the display. There was a group of buildings nearby, on the other side of a hill. Interesting, he thought. He zoomed in on the complex to study it more thoroughly. This was certainly not a town, not even an industrial area.  
  
Malcolm said, his attention still held by the display, "It appears to be a military base, as far as I can make out. A large one too. Look at the concentric perimeter fences. This seems to be a gatehouse, and these buildings - they look like barracks and a parade square. Here are some warehouses. These items are most likely artillery pieces." He looked up at T'Pol. "If Trip and Travis have been discovered, my guess is that they would be taken here - to this camp - at least initially."  
  
T'Pol considered this suggestion. "It is possible," she agreed. She tapped in a command to overlay lifesign readings on the camp's image. They were numerous and anonymous. From orbit, even distinguishing humans from aliens was problematic. It was illogical to assume that one might be able to select the lifesigns of a particular person from many others of the same species. She should not have expected otherwise. "I am unable to isolate specific individuals," she said.  
  
Malcolm gazed at the display pensively, inspecting the sprawling military compound. "There's a lot of activity," he said eventually and heavily. "I could get in all right - use the transporter device - and scout round but it'll be difficult to cover the whole area undetected. I'd have to be quite close to identify their individual bio-signs."  
  
T'Pol said, "What if they have been taken somewhere else? If you are discovered it could put their captors on high alert. It may hinder any later attempts to find them."  
  
Malcolm gave an annoyed grunt as he realized she was correct. He tapped the edge of the table with two fingers as he considered other possibilities. "I'll transport in to different points to quarter the site with my scanner - use the transporter to move about the camp. The transporter operator can pull me out if anyone comes near." He tapped at the place where the bio-signs had last been shown. "We'll do the same here, and at the town if that's not successful. The MACOs can help with that."  
  
He crossed his arms to emphasize his commitment to action. It was bound to succeed - wasn't it?  
  
---------------  
  
The next time Archer awoke, the chaos around him had diminished. He could see people scurrying around, but it was quieter. He turned his head. He could remember a place before... dark, noisy, confused. This was different. More brightly lit. Calmer. He was thankful for that. It made it easier to think, to remember.  
  
A man was sitting next to him. Archer gazed at him. Did he know him? He was wearing a gray uniform.  
  
The officer spoke, his face serious, but Archer couldn't understand him. He did recognize the language. 'German' floated into his head. He was beginning to gather pieces of his fractured mind, to re-build it.  
  
Archer shook his head, ignoring the flash of pain that shot through his skull like a whipcrack. "Don't understand," he finally pushed out. "Don't know German..." He trailed off, weakness engulfing him. That tiny effort had cost him so much.  
  
The officer said something else, then moved away. Archer followed him with his eyes. He fought the weariness. "No, damnit," he cursed as he struggled. He had to stay awake. How else would he remember?  
  
The officer returned with another. An alien, blue skinned, reptilian perhaps...That word had alarm associated with it. Archer blinked, flinching away.  
  
The newcomer spoke. Archer shook his head. "No... can't understand..."  
  
The alien said, "You speak English?"  
  
Archer gasped and gave a tiny nod. Yes he did. That was what it was called. Something else he knew once more.  
  
"Who are you?" said the alien. "Are you English? What unit are you with? Tanks... ground support crew...?"  
  
Archer panicked. He didn't know! Why didn't he know?! He tried to sit up, to explain...  
  
Another person arrived at his bedside, speaking German to the alien. This man had a stethoscope around his neck.  
  
"I can't remember," choked out Archer, waving a hand feebly.  
  
The alien nodded. "The medical officer tells me your memory will return. Do not worry. We will speak later. Rest now."  
  
Archer sank back, allowing reassurance to comfort him. He was so tired... he needed to sleep, just for a little while...  
  
----------------  
  
The ethereal shimmer strengthened into solidity.  
  
Malcolm took a second to swing around, phase pistol raised. It should be clear, according to the transporter display, but he was taking no chances. Unlikely as it seemed, this world might indeed have technology capable of diverting their scans. The pale afternoon light filtering through high dirty windows revealed no one waiting in ambush for him.  
  
He had been set down in a storeroom by the looks of it. It was crammed with shelving bearing boxes and crates. The air was musty. He felt a tickle at the back of his throat as the dust settled and swallowed to suppress the threatened cough.  
  
Satisfied he was alone, he brought his scanner to bear. The rooms around his refuge leapt into existence, the walls a kind of maze through which busy dots scuttled. He flicked to the programmed runs, all attention now on the results.  
  
Nothing. All these people going about their business and none was Trip or Travis. No evidence of the shuttlepod either.  
  
He passed his tongue over dry lips and ran the scans again, but it didn't change the results. He had almost been counting on finding them here. It did seem the most likely place, which is why he had allocated the military camp to himself for investigation.  
  
He had one more location to set down in. That would then mean he had scanned the entire compound. He stuffed the scanner in a pocket and extracted his communicator. "Reed to Enterprise. Final location."  
  
Bracing himself against the unnerving sensation, that vague tingling as nerves were dissembled, he briefly saw the transporter bay and the anxious eyes of the ensign and T'Pol, before being returned to Earth.  
  
He repeated his now standard routine: phase pistol, scan, test, repeat. And the now standard result. Nothing.  
  
Where were Trip and Travis?  
  
----------------  
  
Once again, the available senior officers gathered around the display in the situation room.  
  
T'Pol said, summarizing that which they all already knew, "Our efforts at locating Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather have proved unsuccessful." She nodded to Malcolm.  
  
He gave a sigh, his expression grim as he faced his colleagues. "I covered every part of the camp, the MACOs went to the landing place and the township - it's not large. These regions," he highlighted zones on the map, "have all been scanned, with no sign of them, or the shuttlepod." He frowned down at the map, crossing his arms.  
  
Hoshi looked at him and shivered. She had a growing doubt. They had lost the Captain. Why not Trip and Travis too, to add to all their other losses? Once she would have been hopeful, felt that things usually turned out okay, but now... Malcolm lifted his head and for a moment, she caught the desolate look in his eyes before he could suppress it. He felt the same.  
  
T'Pol said impassively, "It is possible our crewmates are being held at a place not accessible to our sensors, perhaps because they are not in the area we searched or because there is some shielding effect - despite the conflict with the inhabitants' level of technical development." She saw puzzlement on some faces and added as explanation, "If the bio-signs stopped because they had been killed, why would the shuttlepod signal simultaneously vanish?"  
  
Hoshi gave a small gasp at T'Pol's clinical assessment. How could she, even though a Vulcan, refer so casually in that manner to their friends' possible deaths? But then she saw a slight but definite tremor pass through T'Pol's lithe body. Not even she could conceal her unease.  
  
Lieutenant Hess said with a catch in her voice, "So, what can we do now? They might be anywhere."  
  
"I could monitor transmissions," offered Hoshi. "See if there is any mention of them. It could give us a clue."  
  
"Good idea, Hoshi," approved Malcolm.  
  
"Very well, Ensign. Proceed with that plan," said T'Pol.  
  
Hoshi looked around at the others. "Their broadcasts are low strength and they also rely on wire transmission." Hoshi gulped, not relishing the idea of transporting down. "I'll need to go down to set up relays on the surface and tap into the telephone lines."  
  
Malcolm reset his stance a little, "That's not necessary. Tell the MACOs what to do. I'll send a team down."  
  
Hoshi smiled at her rescuer. "Okay," she said. "I'll get right on it."  
  
T'Pol said gravely,"Does anyone have any other suggestion?"  
  
The officers stood silently. Then Malcolm jerked and ran a considering forefinger across his chin. Keeping his attention on the tabletop display, he said quietly, "There is something we could try." He lifted his head to gauge T'Pol's reaction to his proposal. "Knock at the front door and ask to be let in."  
  
"Lieutenant?"  
  
"We need to know what they have done with Trip and Travis. I'm convinced that the army is mixed up in their disappearance. Even if they had been discovered by civilians, the military would soon become involved. So - let's get the army to tell us what we need to know, instead of skulking around." He became more animated as the plan solidified. "I could present myself as one of them - someone sent to interrogate the prisoners or if they are not there, talk about how they were found. I only have to find out where they are being held - there and possibly shielded, or elsewhere - then we can get to them and transport them out."  
  
T'Pol said, "How would you convince the army personnel to talk to you?"  
  
"All military organizations rely on orders - strict compliance. We fabricate some for me. I present them to their commanding officer. He follows them." Malcolm spoke with more confidence than he felt.  
  
T'Pol considered the plan. Much could go awry. "How would we obtain the correct papers? Or uniform?"  
  
Malcolm considered the points. "Mmm. We might be able to identify their administration offices - lots of paperwork there. I wonder if they work around the clock? That might not provide individual ID documentation though." He tapped his fingers on the table. "Alternatively, there is bound to be plenty of coming and going. We intercept one of them, a courier if we can identify one. Use their papers as a model to fabricate our own."  
  
Lieutenant Hess put in, "Crewman Tressler could help with that. He has a talent for art and calligraphy."  
  
"They will be most suspicious," said T'Pol, raising an eyebrow, "even if you have the correct documents."  
  
Malcolm said, "I doubt many outside the base know about Trip and Travis. The fact I do will enhance my credibility - that I've been sent by their HQ. I could adopt civilian dress... say I'm in intelligence." He bit the corner of his lower lip and looked at T'Pol. "It is risky," he acknowledged, "but we have to try."  
  
T'Pol deliberated, meeting Malcolm's unflinching stare. They had few options available to them. "Very well. We will proceed with that plan. Lieutenant Reed, you will arrange to obtain the papers. I will discuss clothing with the Quartermaster. Ensign Sato, in addition to your signal interceptions, please be alert for any information concerning the conditions here, which could assist with context. Lieutenant Hess - alert Crewman Tressler and investigate if there are any others of the crew with similar abilities."  
  
"Understood," replied Malcolm straightening up with an almost audible snap, clearly relieved to be taking action. The others followed suit and set off on their allocated tasks with renewed determination.

* * *

TBC  
  
A/N: So - I wonder where Trip and Travis are? See the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Many thanks for the encouraging reviews. They really do help to motivate me. I'm sorry I wasn't able to post this chapter sooner. I'll try to do better with future updates.

* * *

**Chapter 4**  
  
The army jeep approached the bend in the road at high speed, its three occupants bracing themselves as it bounced over the potholed surface. From the ground, the wartime strain on the infrastructure was plain to see. There were no spare resources for this back road.  
  
Four of the MACO's remained crouching low while the remaining member of their party ran forward and flung himself down in the center of the road. They had been waiting for some time and this had been their only possibility so far. Woods was wearing light colored civilian dress - clearly visible to the oncoming vehicle.  
  
The jeep slowed as Woods' sprawled form came into sight, coming to a halt about ten meters away from him. The front seat passenger leapt down and approached Woods as the other two soldiers watched on curiously.  
  
Parsons nodded to Cole. Simple shots for skilled marksmen. Between them, they took out the men in the vehicle and almost instantaneously after, the man on foot.  
  
The MACOs rushed out of cover. The energy pulses would keep the soldiers unconscious for some time, but they required longer. Cole applied the hypospray with its load of sedative to each man's neck. Meanwhile, the others rummaged through pockets, taking ID cards, papers... anything that might be of use and also relieved them of any valuables. It had to look like an opportunist thief had come along. If only papers were missing, it would raise suspicion and make the coming mission even more hazardous.  
  
There was an unexpected bonus. A briefcase containing papers! It was secured by a lock and chain to one man's wrist. Cole levered it open and appropriated its contents.  
  
Then the MACOs pushed the jeep off the road, down a small bank. It careered along the short stretch and into a tree trunk. Parsons shot out one of the front tires. It wouldn't fool any detailed inspection, especially once the men came around and tried to remember what had happened, but it would deflect suspicion for a time. They dragged the soldiers to the side of the road and hid them in low bushes.  
  
Glancing around for witnesses and checking scanners, the MACOs melted back into the surrounding scrub, confident they had been unobserved. Within seconds, they were back on board Enterprise, handing over their spoils to T'Pol. 

------------------------

Malcolm eyed the garments that had been procured for him from stores in the town - Hoshi's idea, and a good one, he had to admit. Burglary was easy if one had a transporter to assist and it was the dead of night. The choice of clothing was another matter. A tweed jacket! Not the most stylish of garments, and really not the sort of impression he thought any self-respecting interrogator would want to give. What had McKenzie been thinking?! There wasn't time to change it though and there were some advantages to the thick material. He grabbed the jacket and other items and strode down to the Quartermaster's empire to have his modifications made, with a quick detour via the Armory.

----------------------------

The Mess Hall was a scene of great industry. T'Pol was collaborating with several of the crew to fabricate the required papers. They had pushed several tables together to work around, everyone silent in concentration. Various artifacts were strewn across the surfaces.  
  
When T'Pol had examined the documents retrieved by the MACOs, she had determined that there was considerable variation in the typeface and weight of card used in the ID papers. That gave them some latitude in fabricating their own version. The briefcase had been a most fortunate find. It contained orders from high-ranking officers at Headquarters to various units. There was enough here to give something which would at least pass first muster.  
  
Malcolm came in to see how they were progressing. He immediately noticed an antique typewriter, sitting on the table next to a selection of paper - more loot from various stores. The typewriter was fascinating; a mass of levers and a bell and he couldn't resist pressing a few keys, just to see what it was like. Then he peered over the shoulder of one of the crewman who was finishing off the work on the orders. The man shot the Lieutenant a startled look then hunched over as if preventing copying.  
  
Malcolm took the hint. "Sorry," he said, "I don't want to put you off." He moved over to the table area where his ID card lay. Picking up the card, he marveled at the feel of it and its battered appearance. It certainly looked like he'd been carrying it around for years. The forgers had done an excellent job. They had even generated what seemed to be a genuine photograph.  
  
He checked the particulars. He'd opted for his own birth details - he hadn't time to generate a legend he could be sure to remember. As the dates seemed correct, that should be okay. He had considered choosing a new birthplace, but he didn't want to run the risk of meeting someone else from there. It would be just the type of ruse someone would play when attempting to test his story. Plus although he thought his American accent was excellent others had disagreed. He shook his head at that - they couldn't recognize talent!  
  
Then he noticed something else. Another card. He flipped it open.  
  
"T'Pol?" He looked up at her.  
  
"I shall be accompanying you," she said flatly.  
  
"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Malcolm was uneasy at the thought of so many senior officers off ship.  
  
"It is imperative we find out what has happened to Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather, and the shuttlepod. If two of us go down, we will be able to cover more ground if necessary. It will provide greater flexibility."  
  
"But T'Pol..."  
  
"It is not open to discussion, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Hess will be in command of Enterprise while we are on the surface."  
  
"If something goes wrong..."  
  
She fixed him with a steady eye. "We will have the means to transport out immediately if necessary using the emergency beacons as an alert. We do not have time to argue about this. Do you have your things ready?"  
  
Malcolm capitulated. He knew T'Pol well enough by now to know when she was set on something. Then nothing would dissuade her. He nodded. "Very nearly. I should be ready in half an hour."  
  
"The papers and my disguise will be finished by then. Very well, meet me at the transporter in thirty minutes."  
  
Malcolm nodded, "Understood."

------------------------

Trip regained his senses in stages. He first became aware of a low hum, its pitch varying on a slow cycle. It had a hypnotic soothing effect on him. He was lying on his right side. The smooth surface under his hand and face was a fabric, leather perhaps. Cracking open his eyelids, he could see a pale blue wall immediately in front of him.  
  
He rolled slowly onto his back and let out a groan. He was sore. Mostly it was his back, but there didn't appear to be a part of him that wasn't hurting - his muscles were tender, nerves sensitized. What had happened? He felt like he'd been run over by a shuttlepod and then they'd turned around and done it again! And this certainly was not Sick Bay or any other part of Enterprise. Baby blue was not in her designers' lexicon and that noise was not generated by his engines.  
  
He tried moving onto his left side. That was a little less painful and it also brought Travis into view. He was lying facing Trip on another bed and still unconscious by the looks of it.  
  
The memory of what he'd seen rushed in on Trip. He'd been with Travis, exploring. Heard a noise and then... and then he'd been blasted by some stun weapon... a nasty looking thing. A meter long and with bulbous protrusions along its barrel. Even nastier was the person holding it. Trip had had only an instant to take in the features.  
  
An alien!  
  
Almost Xindi Reptilian - he shuddered - but a different species. Blue skinned. His eyes widened as he took in the implications. What were aliens doing on Earth? This backward version of Earth which certainly had shown no evidence of warp drive, Vulcan influence or anything beyond primitive tech.  
  
He gingerly raised himself up on his elbow. "Travis," he whispered. "You okay?"  
  
Travis remained oblivious, looking utterly at peace. Trip sat up and moved around to dangle his legs over the side of the bed, which was high off the ground. He could see now that the room contained the two of them on long beds - they were evidently adjustable - some low couches, what appeared to be medical equipment and other unidentifiable items - metal and synthetic constructions.  
  
Trip pushed himself to his feet, grabbing hold of the edge of the bed as his knees buckled. A shooting pain raced up his spine and across his shoulders. "Damn," he exclaimed. He winced at the loudness of his curse. Taking a moment to steady himself with several deep breaths, Trip staggered across the short distance to Travis.  
  
Holding tightly to Travis' bed, Trip gave his friend a gentle shake on his shoulder. "Travis. Wake up."  
  
Travis stirred and coughed. He rolled onto his back, groaning. He opened his eyes and squinted up at the ceiling.  
  
"Travis," said Trip, more insistently.  
  
"Uhh?" Travis turned his head to look at Trip. He blinked. Then he grinned. "Commander."  
  
"Yeah. Come on. Try to sit up." Trip looked around the room. The sooner they were able to move about the better.  
  
With an effort, Travis pushed up onto his elbows then cautiously brought his legs around, letting a hiss of pain escape his lips.  
  
Trip flexed his back. It was improving. "It'll get better, I promise," he assured Travis as he let go of his bed and stood independently. "Keep moving, Travis." The more he moved around the more rapidly the discomfort reduced.  
  
Travis gave an unconvinced grunt, but nevertheless did as he was bid. "Where are we, Commander? What happened?" Travis eased himself upright, muscles taut.  
  
"We were stunned." Trip still couldn't quite believe it.  
  
"Stunned? I didn't think they had that technology."  
  
"It wasn't them. They were aliens, Travis."  
  
Travis gaped. "Here? Who are they?"  
  
Trip shook his head. "I didn't recognize the species. Humanoid, bipedal, blue skinned. I only saw them for an instant " He remembered something else. "They didn't show on my scanner."  
  
"Uhh. Projections of some kind?"  
  
"Nah. I think they were real, hence the stun hits," said Trip wryly.  
  
Travis grimaced, a little embarrassed. "Oh yeah. I forgot." He was still feeling a bit fuzzy.  
  
"They must have some way of deflecting our scans, or perhaps they simply don't register," said Trip thoughtfully.  
  
"Where is this place?"  
  
"No idea." Trip made for the single door but it had no discernible means to open it. He tried pushing at it and on the surrounding walls but it remained shut.  
  
Trip walked around, stretching all his limbs and peering at the equipment. It was decidedly alien. He sniffed. Odd - the room smelt faintly of an unsettling mix of lavender and light machine oil, at least that's how Trip's brain classified it.  
  
"I don't have my scanner or anything else," remarked Travis, working through his pockets.  
  
Trip realized he was similarly lacking. "The aliens must've taken them."  
  
"What do you think they want?"  
  
"We're still in one piece, just about. To talk, perhaps?" Trip gazed around. This didn't seem to be in a prison cell. It was more like an alien version of Sick Bay. Then where were the medical attendants?  
  
At that moment, the door opened with a swish. Trip spun round to see an alien enter - the same species as those who had stunned them. Trip had thought in the brief glimpse he'd got previously that they were a reptilian species. On closer scrutiny any resemblance to a Xindi Reptilian was slight. He was solidly built, taller than the average human and not at all scaly.  
  
The alien was wearing a loosely gathered flowing green robe over deep ochre trousers and black boots. A taloned hand held one of their communicators in front of him. A second alien, similarly dressed, had followed and now stood behind. This one carried a weapon, similar to that which had been used to stun the Enterprise officers.  
  
Trip tried to stand more steadily, consciously distributing his weight evenly, and was aware of Travis drawing himself up alongside him.  
  
The alien carrying the communicator stepped forward with a strange rolling gait while the other stayed back, vigilantly holding his gun on them.  
  
"Where did you come from?" asked the alien, bright red eyes sharply alert. The translation was smooth, Trip noticed. The aliens must have been experimenting with the device.  
  
"I could ask the same of you," retorted Trip, feeling a slight wave of nausea pass over him as he took in the unnatural articulation of the alien's arms. Elbows just shouldn't bend backwards, he thought, or be fully rotatable like that. He swallowed and successfully dragged his gaze upwards to meet the alien's eyes.  
  
"You are human. Our tests prove it."  
  
"Yeah." No point in denying that.  
  
"We have located your vehicle." The alien peeled back his lips to show razor sharp white teeth.  
  
Damn, thought Trip. The shuttlepod. "What vehicle?" he replied, trying to sound curious. The alien didn't buy it.  
  
"How do you have this technology?"  
  
"I don't know what you mean." Trip gave an apologetic grimace. "Sorry."  
  
"This translator device and your vehicle? Who gave you this equipment?"  
  
He couldn't deny the communicator. He had been carrying it when he was stunned, hadn't he? Trip tried another tactic. Rocking back on his heels, he said boldly, "I'm not telling you anything until you tell me something about yourselves."  
  
"Those uniforms you are wearing. What do they denote? What unit are you with?" carried on the alien relentlessly.  
  
Trip said levelly, "Wildlife Project." He heard Travis' low snort but kept a straight face, lord knew how.  
  
"Wildlife Project?" repeated the alien. "I don't know about that. Tell me more."  
  
"No. It's your turn now," said Trip.  
  
"You appear to be with the North American Alliance, but you were spying on the township. Why is that?"  
  
"Looking for bears," said Trip with an insolent smile.  
  
The alien gave a laugh. A harsh croak. "No bears around here, my friend."  
  
He held the communicator up and switched it off. Then he carried on, speaking in English. "I do not think you are with either the Nazi Fourth Reich or the Eastern Empire, but you do not belong where we found you either. This technology is far beyond any science that they have developed. But yet, you are human. This is a mystery."  
  
"Tell me about it," replied Trip lightly, but inwardly alarmed by the alien's reference to Nazis. His history might be shaky but he had a good enough grasp, admittedly movie-based, to know something was seriously and horribly amiss here.  
  
The alien gazed at him, then seemingly came to a decision. "Very well. This will not disrupt our research, because you evidently are not part of this civilization. We are xenopologists. We study alien societies - in this case, human society."  
  
"Why?" said Trip.  
  
"To learn about others, to seek knowledge, to interpret our own society in the light of findings here. Why does one do any investigation of this type?"  
  
"That makes sense, kinda," said Trip. "You're right. We are human. However, we are not from this world. We are visitors too." There - he'd admitted it to himself as well as this alien. They didn't belong here. He was still inclined to be cautious though. "We don't know how we got here. We were flying our vessel, then when we landed, we discovered things were not as they should be. We detected an energy surge. Perhaps it caused us to travel backwards in time? In any case, we are alone here, and need to make the best of it."  
  
The alien nodded. Apparently, this did not seem fantastic to him. "So you are not participating," he said.  
  
"Not part of this society, no," agreed Trip. "Can we go? We have to see if we can get home. We won't tell anyone about your studies. If we can't get home, we have to find a way to become a part of this place." And contact Enterprise, he thought.  
  
The alien shook his head. "We are not on Earth. We are on my home world, Thrax."  
  
"What?!" exclaimed Travis, unable to remain silent at this revelation.  
  
Trip looked at him and back at the alien, "We can't have been unconscious for that long!"  
  
"We have a method of traveling which allows great distances to be covered in a short time, providing the parameters are favorable, which they were at this time. Do not worry. We will transport you back to your world when we can."  
  
"Thanks," stammered Trip, overwhelmed by this revelation. He wasn't going to let it rest there though. He would take matters into his own hands if need be. "When will that be?"  
  
"I am not skilled in transportation. You will be informed when it is feasible to make the transfer."  
  
Trip bit his lip. "I guess we'll need to wait for that then." He hoped it wouldn't be long. He didn't want Enterprise to get dragged into this and they would be searching for them soon no doubt.  
  
"Come with me," said the Thraxian. "We have more comfortable quarters for you."  
  
"Thanks," said Trip again. "What's your name?"  
  
"Strixam."  
  
"My name is Tucker. This is Mayweather. Lead the way, Strixam."  
  
Strixam gave a small bow, and led them through the door, the armed Thraxian following at the rear.  
  
The room opened onto a railed broad walkway surrounding a circular central space. The huge vaulted chamber was so high that the atmosphere made it difficult to see the roof through the haze. They were standing on a gallery that appeared to extend entirely around the periphery of the open space. Above and below were other galleries. A maze of cylinders and tubes latticed the central region. Some of them pulsed with changing colors. A power source perhaps, speculated Trip.  
  
Strixam guided them around the gallery and into a comfortably furnished room. "Wait here. There is food for you and other amenities. I will return in due course."  
  
"Wait a minute," called Trip. "Would you leave our translator device with us?"  
  
The alien stood indecisively.  
  
Trip added, "Then it won't matter if we have to talk to someone whose English isn't as fluent as your own." He gave a diffident shrug and friendly grin.  
  
Strixam held the communicator up and considered it and then the humans. "Very well," he said at last, handing it over. "That might prove helpful."  
  
"Thanks. Appreciate it," said Trip, waving it towards Strixam.  
  
Strixam gave bow and left them, the door sliding closed behind him.  
  
As soon as it closed, Travis said, "We need to get back to Earth."  
  
"All in good time," replied Trip examining their new quarters. "I'm sure they'll get us home as soon as possible. Now, wouldn't you bet that they would be interested in seeing how we react to this? Might throw some light on human interactions for them."  
  
"I guess," said Travis, taking the hint. They would be watched, of course. They had to be careful. "Do you trust them?"  
  
Trip grinned. "Nope!" He set to exploring their new quarters. "Let's see if we can find any bears here!"

* * *

TBC 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

* * *

****

**Chapter 5**  
  
A bright shimmer broke the dullness of early dawn as T'Pol and Malcolm transported down to the surface, Malcolm with a cautious phase pistol in hand. The surrounding landscape was washed out and pale at the start of what promised to be a warm summer's day.  
  
They checked their scanners to confirm they were alone. No human bio-signs showed. They had set down in a wooded area near to the camp and only animal life was present in the vicinity.  
  
Hoshi had discovered from the transmissions she intercepted that there was little private transport available - at least, she thought that was the situation. She had cautioned that it was difficult to find out much of substance in the short time she'd had for study. The public bus system in contrast was well developed and frequent. The plan was for T'Pol and Malcolm to wait until a bus passed the road leading to the base, then walk up to the entrance as if they had been riding on it.  
  
T'Pol was wearing a close fitting navy skirt and jacket with a pink blouse. The clothing was uncomfortably restrictive - the old fashioned materials had no give in them - adequate but no more than that. Phlox had disguised her pointed ears with his customary skill and they would pass as human unless subjected to the closest inspection. A small hat pulled down over their tips provided an additional precaution.  
  
She stood alertly, her scanner held at the ready and her eyes raking their surroundings. As she waited, she considered what line of conversation she should take when they initiated contact with the inhabitants. It would be a difficult task to draw out the information without raising suspicions.  
  
Malcolm had been surprised on first donning his outfit on the ship and looking in a mirror. With gray flannel pants, white shirt, navy tie and that dubious tweed jacket, he looked like one of those clean cut Englishmen that appeared in Trip's old movies. All he needed was a pipe and he would be a perfect!  
  
The damp morning air carried a chill and Malcolm was grateful for the warmth of the tweed, despite his misgivings over its suitability for his role. He found the woodland smells incredibly evocative. This 'Earth' might not be his own planet, but it was so close to it. He could almost believe he had made it home from their apparently hopeless mission to the dreaded Expanse. His eyes slid over the dew-laden grasses, mossy banks, damp earth - the unmistakable landscape of Earth. Was it wrong to feel a flicker of pleasure, although Trip and Travis were missing and God knew when, if or how they would find their way home?  
  
Malcolm cast a final look around, then sat down on a low rock and pulled out his ID card. He had already read it several times but felt a compulsion to examine it once more. The forgers had used a recent image to generate the photograph and the rigors of the Expanse could be read in the serious face that gazed out at him. A weariness was clearly apparent in his features, those tired eyes.  
  
A shiver ran up his spine. He was unused to such self-examination. Sometimes there was just too much for a person to confront. Better to leave it alone, allow it to diminish rather than indulge in unsettling introspection. He shied away from those memories that had etched their way onto his face.  
  
"Remarkable work," he commented instead, turning the card in his fingers but T'Pol didn't answer. He shoved it back in his inside pocket, then got out their 'orders'. T'Pol had made them wide-ranging; they ordered any military personnel to give them virtually any assistance they required. "Do you think these will be okay?" worried Malcolm. "Won't they be wary of such open-ended instructions?"  
  
T'Pol gazed down at him. "In my experience, stating that one's mission is classified is advantageous in deflecting further comment and inquiry. Being given a wide remit is consistent with our deception."  
  
"Good point," admitted Malcolm. "And people don't like to cross spooks."  
  
T'Pol raised an elegant eyebrow in query.  
  
"Uhh... a term for secret servicemen," said Malcolm.  
  
"Indeed? I agree. That would be especially true in a wartime setting. We also require flexibility. It would be difficult to be more precise without making potentially unwarranted assumptions."  
  
Malcolm grunted and put the orders away.  
  
The light was growing stronger now. Malcolm felt a familiar flutter of anticipation as he waited to go into action. He wanted to get up and pace, but restrained himself. Only the barest jigging of his left leg betrayed his impatience. He wondered if T'Pol felt it also but her face was impassive, unchanging. How could she be so calm? Even for a Vulcan, it must be hard. Particularly in these circumstances. His mind wandered to this Earth and his own. Would he ever see his own again? His family and friends there? Then he thought of those he'd lost. The Captain... He slammed down on the guilt he felt about the Captain's death. Now was not the time. That had to wait until Enterprise was safely home and he could relinquish his responsibilities.  
  
A low growling resolved into the straining engine of a bus as it came trundling along the road. It passed their position without slacking pace.  
  
"We should go," said T'Pol.  
  
Malcolm nodded. He called Enterprise to report their status then concealed their equipment - scanners, phase pistol and communicators - in a rabbit hole. If they were unable to return for it, they would rely on emergency beacons built into the heels of their shoes. The beacons were set up such that a sharp sequence of taps would activate them to alert the operator on Enterprise so they could be transported away - or so they hoped. Malcolm still felt naked without his weapon.  
  
T'Pol led the way, making for the road, with Malcolm following. A turn in the road brought the camp into view ahead of them.  
  
It was surrounded by a daunting barbed wire perimeter fence with additional defenses ranged behind it. Tall watchtowers were located at intervals along the fence with dark shapes of lookouts moving around them. No doubt they also housed powerful searchlights for nighttime use.  
  
The gatehouse at the entrance to the camp was a substantial brick-built building. Next to it was a checkpoint barring the access road. There were three soldiers in khaki uniform at the checkpoint, one manning a swinging barrier across the road and the other two standing to the side with rifles slung over their shoulders.  
  
The soldiers didn't look to be on especially high alert, thought Malcolm. Perhaps in these parts the war was a distant thing and they had become complacent. He fervently hoped that was the case. But then, if Trip and Travis, not to mention the shuttlepod, had been found, wouldn't there be a more visible security. Perhaps that was what he wanted after all? Not peaceful calm.  
  
Malcolm sighed. There was no point in second-guessing. He had to concentrate on the job at hand and try to stay ahead of the game. He glanced at T'Pol. She looked so cool and self-possessed. Being a Vulcan was a definite advantage for an intelligence mission.  
  
A loud roar filled the still air as a truck came storming past, forcing T'Pol and Malcolm to jump back off the roadway. Malcolm had never been that close to an old fashioned vehicle before and was taken aback at how noisy it was. Experiencing history first hand, as it were, was a strange affair. To think that once the whole planet had been choked with such vehicles. How had people been able to stand it?  
  
The soldiers at the guard post dealt with the vehicle, checking papers and looking in the back. Then they opened the barrier and waved it on its way.  
  
As the two Enterprise officers reached the checkpoint barrier, a fourth guard of higher rank - a Sergeant - came out of the gatehouse to intercept them. "Papers," he demanded brusquely, giving them a hard stare.  
  
They handed over their ID cards and the orders telling them to report to this camp: codename Alpha Charlie 5.  
  
The Sergeant minutely examined T'Pol's ID card and compared her face against the picture in the pass. He handed it back with a salute. "Ma'am," he said.  
  
Opening Malcolm's pass, he read the information and jerked his head up sharply. "It says here, you were born in Portsmouth, England. That right? You English?"  
  
"Yes," said Malcolm. The least said the better. He knew that much.  
  
"So, what are you doing here?" said the Sergeant.  
  
"We have come to see your commanding officer, Sergeant," said T'Pol smoothly.  
  
The Sergeant looked at Malcolm's ID card again. "This appears to be in order," he muttered. "Don't know how, though."  
  
Malcolm stood uneasily, aware that the other guards were glaring at him. This is madness, he thought, not for the first time. How could they possibly get away with it? What had possessed him to offer this as a plan, to argue that it was a plan with a realistic chance of succeeding?  
  
"Okay," said the Sergeant at last, waving them through. "Holliday, escort these people to see Colonel Jones."  
  
"Yes, Sergeant," said Holliday, a lanky dark haired individual.  
  
The Sergeant pursed his lips. "Walker. You better go as well. Get Sanchez to send someone else back here to cover."  
  
"Yes, Sergeant," said Walker, falling in behind.  
  
The small party made its way through the camp. Everywhere there were signs of activity - soldiers drilling, motor vehicles, weapons being worked on. Malcolm would have been fascinated by it all at any other time, but in the present circumstances, he would be quite thankful to do what they came for and get out as soon as possible.  
  
T'Pol swept her eyes over the busy scene also, watching out for any discrepancies, any clues. She saw nothing untoward.  
  
They arrived at their destination - a redbrick building several stories high and with white stone steps leading to a substantial polished wooden door. Inside, the small entrance hallway led to a larger, more open area. Several clerks - men and women, all in uniform - sat at long desks behind a waist high barrier, hammering away on manual typewriters. Others scuttled around with barely a glance at the new arrivals. It was all so unreal -just like a movie, thought Malcolm, gazing at the wooden paneling lining the walls.  
  
While the two Enterprise officers stood waiting, Holliday had been talking to one of the desk clerks, showing him their papers. He turned to T'Pol and Malcolm. "This way."  
  
Holliday led them down a corridor and into a bare room, lit by a single overhead light bulb and containing a table and several chairs. "Wait here," said Holliday, closing the door and leaving them alone.  
  
T'Pol and Malcolm stood in silence. Malcolm was nervous. He was beginning to wish he did have a pipe on him. It always seemed to help people to calm down in the movies. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jacket. Calm, confident, collected, he told himself. Believe the legend. He was a hot shot intelligence officer; this was an unimportant camp in the middle of nowhere. His mantra started to take effect. This had to work.  
  
They waited for what seemed a long time. Only minutes probably, thought Malcolm. No doubt T'Pol knew exactly how long it was.  
  
The door opened and a tall, lean dark-haired man entered. He was wearing a smart World War 2 officer's uniform - a Colonel - Colonel Jones presumably. A soldier followed, closed the door and stationed himself in front of it.  
  
Without any preliminaries, the Colonel glared at the two Enterprise officers and ordered, "Sit."  
  
T'Pol sat down with Malcolm following suit after a brief hesitation, taking a chair next to her. The Colonel remained on his feet on the other side of the table. He had their documentation in his hand.  
  
"I have your papers here." The Colonel flourished them. "Miss Pollard, Mr Reed. According to these, you are to be given every assistance in your mission. It doesn't say what that mission is. I find that strange."  
  
"That is because it is a classified operation, Colonel," said T'Pol calmly.  
  
Jones narrowed his eyes. "Hrumph. I see. Curious. Almost as curious as the provenance of these papers."  
  
"Curious?" said T'Pol.  
  
"Apparently, these come direct from the Chief of Staff - the Head of the Army himself, General Barrington."  
  
"That is correct," replied T'Pol truthfully. That was where they apparently came from.  
  
"Did the General give you these in person?"  
  
Malcolm remained as still as he could. What if this Colonel knew the General? He might ask some awkward questions.  
  
T'Pol eased his fears. "No. An aide, Major... Tressler, I believe, gave us our orders.  
  
Jones nodded. "I see. " He read through the orders once more then looked down at T'Pol. "So - why are you here?"  
  
T'Pol said, "I cannot reveal that unless we are alone." She shifted her gaze to the soldier at the door.  
  
Jones shook his head. "The guard stays. I can vouch for him - he is very discreet."  
  
T'Pol looked at Malcolm who gave a small nod. "Very well," she said. "Mr Reed?"  
  
Malcolm adopted a relaxed posture and said with a touch of arrogance, "We were sent by Headquarters because of the intruders. You are to assist us, Colonel." He casually flicked a bit of non-existent fluff from his jacket sleeve.  
  
T'Pol watched carefully to gauge the Colonel's response to this agreed opening gambit.  
  
Jones stiffened. He stared at Malcolm. Then he said, "Intruders?"  
  
Malcolm replied languidly, "Intruders, strangers...whatever you want to term them. I hope we won't have a problem with your co-operation, Colonel?"  
  
"Which strangers would these be?" asked the Colonel slowly.  
  
T'Pol steadied herself. This part was crucial. She said, "The two strangers who were apprehended nearby observing the township."  
  
The Colonel stayed stone-faced - completely non-reactive. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a short bark of humorless laughter. "Interesting! Well... we will see. I confess, I have some difficulties with your orders, but we will return to it later. I have even greater difficulties with you," he said, suddenly turning to Malcolm. "As you can imagine."  
  
Malcolm stared blankly back while his mind worked furiously. What on Earth did that mean?  
  
"What is a limey collaborator doing here?" The words came laced with venom. Jones' eyes were hard, his face taut.  
  
Collaborator? thought Malcolm in confusion, risking a sideways glance at T'Pol, who looked as perplexed as a Vulcan ever could be.  
  
The Colonel took a step to the table and slammed his hands down onto it, causing Malcolm to jump. "I should have you shot as a spy," he snarled.  
  
"Now wait a minute..." said Malcolm leaning back, all casualness fled.  
  
Colonel Jones lurched forward and seized Malcolm's lapels, half pulling him up out of his seat. Jones shouted, "Shut it! I've had my fill of you duplicitous Nazi Brits. My boy died fighting you people." He gave a shake, and let go the jacket, shoving Malcolm away. Breathing heavily, Jones stepped back and scowled at Malcolm.  
  
Malcolm sat frozen in wide-eyed absolute shock, horrified at the implication of what he'd just heard. Nazi Brits? What had happened in this twisted world? Where had it gone wrong?  
  
T'Pol saw her companion's inability to act. She said smoothly, "Mr Reed has full protection. He is under orders also."  
  
Jones turned to her and spat out, "An English intelligence officer? Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe!"  
  
"It is true," insisted T'Pol. "You can see for yourself from the papers." She glanced at Malcolm who was sitting white faced. He needed time to regain his senses. She improvised, drawing on information gained from movie nights, "Mr Reed is a member of the Resistance. He hates the Nazis also."  
  
Malcolm shook off his rigidity and took his cue from her. "That's right. I hate what they've done just as much as you do."  
  
The Colonel leapt across the room, drawing back his hand as if to strike him, but then paused and dropped it. He said in a low, dangerous voice, shaking his index finger at Malcolm, "Don't ever tell me you hate them like I do. You haven't lost a boy, have you?!"  
  
"No," shot back Malcolm. "But I've lost a country." And it was true. Whatever the story was, it was clear Britain was no longer a free land and had fallen to Nazi tyranny. Malcolm felt sick to his stomach.  
  
The Colonel met Malcolm's stare for a long moment, then turned back to the papers. He said quietly, "I'm going to validate these orders. I've never seen anything like them and I won't take them at face value. We will talk after that."  
  
The Colonel left the room, the soldier remaining on guard in front of the door.  
  
Malcolm stole a glance at T'Pol but said nothing. He was impressed by her quick thinking, but desperately wanted to talk to her about this place, for her analysis of the situation. He couldn't believe that Britain had fallen in this reality and it shook him to his core. Hit at his self-belief, in a way. It might have been an old war where he came from, but it had insinuated itself into his psyche - stupidly perhaps... clinging to the past.  
  
He tried to put this unwelcome revelation to one side, to think instead of how they might progress from this situation to a point where they could actually find out what had happened to the others. He fervently hoped Hoshi would be able to jam the camp transmissions. The timing was tricky.  
  
After ten minutes or so, the Colonel returned. "There will be a delay, it seems. We will have to be patient. In the meantime, I'm afraid I can't keep you together. Ma'am," he said to T'Pol, "I'll have refreshments brought in to you. Mr Reed..." he gestured for Malcolm to follow him out of the room.  
  
Malcolm stood reluctantly. He said to T'Pol, "Will you be okay?"  
  
"Do not worry," she said. "When our orders are validated we will be able to proceed with our mission."  
  
He gave her a quick half smile, then left with the Colonel.  
  
The Colonel led Malcolm from the waiting room, down the corridor and around a corner. Two soldiers, MPs, were waiting there. They sprung to attention when the Colonel appeared.  
  
"Here he is," said the Colonel.  
  
To Malcolm's alarm, one of the MPs produced a pair of handcuffs. "What's this for?" Malcolm said stepping backwards.  
  
The Colonel gave a twisted thin lipped smile. "A precaution."  
  
Malcolm's hands were cuffed behind his back. He offered no resistance, although he did not like this turn of events at all. The Colonel watched with grim satisfaction as Malcolm was led away.

-------------------------

Archer stirred as he saw the orderly make for him. He gestured for water. The man assisted him to sit up and held a cup to his mouth. Archer drank, reveling in the cool flow down his damaged throat. He closed his eyes as he savored the sensation. He had learned to ignore the panic that threatened to overwhelm him every time he tried to grasp at his memories. He was gradually finding pieces returning, although they made no sense. A join-the-dots puzzle where at the moment he had only the dots.  
  
He felt that soon he would begin to know who he was. He took comfort in that and ignored the negative hateful inner voices that threatened insanity.  
  
The medical officer had said that he would improve. He had to believe that.

* * *

TBC 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Once more, appreciative thanks for all the encouragement from my reviewers. I'll keep on trekkin'!

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****

**Chapter 6**  
  
The quarters that the Thraxians had allocated to Trip and Travis were spacious and comfortably furnished. There was no window, so they had no idea what lay outside. Did this room form part of an outer wall or were there yet more accommodation rings beyond it?  
  
One thing was for sure, Trip discovered, it was not possible to simply stroll out through the front door. That stayed stubbornly closed. He puzzled at it. He guessed he understood it. He would not like to see aliens casually roaming around Enterprise. But if Strixam had been telling the truth, what harm would there be in letting the humans see for themselves what the aliens' study consisted of? They might even be able to throw some light on strange Earth customs for them. He gave an amused snort as he recalled those unaccountable misapprehensions a bunch of Vulcans had had about them. Football as some sort of fight to the death!  
  
"Let's eat. We need to keep our strength up," said Trip, selecting some bread and cheese. He wasn't hungry, but it was important. At least they had Earth food available to them. No need to worry about unfortunate consequences or anything too... alive.  
  
Travis dropped down besides him. "I've never heard of Thraxians before. I wonder how they ended up in Earth's part of the galaxy."  
  
Trip shrugged. "There're lots of races we're new to. The Klingons aren't that far from us at high warp drive and a few years ago we had no idea they existed."  
  
"Yeah, but there are always stories. You know how Boomers like to weave tales!" He laughed. "Oh well, they're making up for stunning us." He grabbed an apple.  
  
Trip smiled at Travis. This wasn't too bad - Travis was right. But still, they were prisoners, technically. He had been careful not to give too much information away. He worried about what might happen when Enterprise came looking. Who knew what level of technology these aliens had? From what he'd already seen, it was more advanced than their own.  
  
It was time for action. Trip picked up the communicator. This would come in most useful. It was amazing what a good engineer could do when he needed to improvise.  
  
Trip's 'magic fingers', as Malcolm had once so irritatingly dubbed them, pried the back off the communicator using one of the eating utensils as a lever, shielding his actions with his body from any potentially prying eyes.  
  
Travis got up and nonchalantly lounged by the door, alert for anyone who might approach.  
  
Mindful of possible surveillance, they spoke of inconsequentialities. Travis said," You know, that was a beautiful sunset we saw last night."  
  
"Yeah, it was impressive."  
  
"It was hot wasn't it?"  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
The weather related topic had not lasted long. They really needed Malcolm or some other Brit to give that one legs.  
  
They turned to chatting about Trip's comic book heroes. That went much more fluidly. Trip replied with little thought, concentrating on the circuitry he was modifying.  
  
"All set," Trip said finally. Travis nodded in understanding and he took off on some long convoluted theory regarding Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Casually getting up, Trip made a circuit of the room and the adjoining bathroom facilities.  
  
To his surprise, there was no telltale whine of feedback. He made an adjustment and went around again, repeating the procedure several times.  
  
"I'm pretty sure it's clear, " he said eventually, glancing around.  
  
Travis breathed a sigh of relief, pleased at being able to talk normally once more. "That's strange isn't it, Sir?" he said. "Why aren't they keeping tabs on us?"  
  
"I get the impression we took them by surprise. This seems to be one of their own living quarters. I don't think they're set up for visitors."  
  
"Why do you think they're here - really?"  
  
Trip shook his head as he concentrated on re-setting his communicator. "I don't know. Perhaps they are merely interested in human society? What I'm more interested in is how we ended up on their planet and more importantly, how we get back to Earth." He rubbed his head. He was beginning to feel tired. That would never do, not before they had made some progress.  
  
Trip moved over to the door and gave it a thorough inspection.  
  
"What do you think?" asked Travis.  
  
Trip was gazing pensively at the door. "Hmm. Y'know, I think this just might be possible. I can use the communicator to cycle through the permutations."  
  
"That seems too easy, Commander."  
  
"Yeah, but security is lax around here, Travis, so it seems. What do you think? Should we take advantage of it? Do some exploring?"  
  
"Absolutely," confirmed Travis, a broad smile lighting his face.  
  
"I think so too," replied Trip grinning in reply. Anything was better than sitting here wondering what was happening.  
  
Trip moved back to the couch and set to work again on the communicator, playing with the frequency settings. "All ready," he announced. "I'll start with a chirp signal and go from there."  
  
Moving over to the door, Trip took a deep breath and offered a silent prayer.  
  
Travis leaned over Trip's shoulder, eager to see what happened. Trip tweaked the device. To their gratification, the first attempt was successful. The door slid open without a sound, and they found themselves free to see the sights.  
  
Trip gave a pleased smirk. "Shall we?"  
  
"Why not?!"  
  
---------------------

Malcolm somehow managed to keep an impassive outer facade as he walked between his escort of two MPs, one in front and the other behind him. Inwardly he was most apprehensive for both his own sake and for T'Pol's. They did have their emergency beacons but it had been agreed they were to be used only as a last resort. The people here should not see them transporting. Who knew what problems that might bring down on Trip and Travis?  
  
But he had to remain in place until he had found out what had happened to them. Giving up was not an option; otherwise they would be lost for ever. The worst of it was he was in no position now to do anything to find his friends. He bit his lip and marched doggedly on.  
  
They reached the rear of the building. The lead MP pushed open a door to the outside and they exited into a compound. Malcolm paused to look around, blinking in the unexpectedly bright sunlight.  
  
The MP bringing up the rear gave Malcolm a sharp shove in the back with his baton, causing him to stumble. Taking the hint, Malcolm trudged after their leader, sharp eyes taking in as much as he could. A number of buildings were located around the periphery to define a large central square. They crossed the open ground, passed between two buildings and emerged into another square.  
  
Ahead was a dark three storied building. It had few windows, most of which were barred, and guards posted outside its entrance. When Malcolm had made his preliminary scans of the complex, he had suspected this building was a detention center. It seemed he would soon be making a more intimate acquaintance with it. A daunting prospect.  
  
They walked across the square. Malcolm was darting glances around, memorizing the layout. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of something - a shimmer. 'No... it can't be!' he thought astounded, coming to a full stop. A push to his back was followed by a heavier blow when he failed to respond immediately. Unable to keep his feet, Malcolm crashed to the ground. With his hands restrained behind his back he could do nothing to cushion the impact.  
  
He heard the lead guard say, "Watch it, Joe!"  
  
The other replied, "He tripped!"  
  
"Yeah. I guess. Be careful though. The Colonel said he might be legit."  
  
Malcolm was listening to this with only a part of his attention. Mostly he was gazing in rapt astonishment at the large domed structure now dead ahead from his vantage point on the ground. There it was again... and again... Incredible! It was unmistakable - that occasional shimmer around the building. Here he was in a world that still relied on manual typewriters and on light bulbs for illumination, and yet they also had acquired forcefield technology. How could that be?!  
  
Strong arms grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He staggered again, playing it up a little.  
  
"Damn! He hit his head. Look at him."  
  
"Oh - he'll be okay, won't you, Bud?" said Joe, in anything but a friendly tone. Malcolm looked coldly at the man but kept quiet.  
  
The other MP said nervously, "Come on, Joe. Not out here. Let's get moving."  
  
"Sure thing," replied Joe, hauling Malcolm along by his arm towards the detention center.  
  
The other guard muttered, "You don't want to get into trouble because of him."  
  
"I know, Mike. But look, he's not gonna say anything to anyone. And if he does, who'll listen?" He gave Malcolm's arm a tight squeeze and shake to punctuate his assertion.  
  
The entrance lobby of the prison was forbidding. Floor to ceiling bars divided it in two. A guard stationed in the lobby rotated a lever to cause part of the barrier to slide to one side. Malcolm was led through into the next area and the bars shut with a heavy clang behind him. They went through into another room via another set of locked and guarded doors.  
  
This room was presumably where detainees were processed, thought Malcolm, gazing around. A long table was placed in front of a bank of bottle green filing cabinets. An older, heavyset man sat behind the table writing in a ledger. He looked up at the new arrival.  
  
"Name?" he asked, pen poised.  
  
"No name," said Joe. "We just need somewhere to stash him."  
  
"Well," huffed the warden, "I still need to book him in. Regulations."  
  
"This comes from the Colonel, Collier."  
  
The warden shook his head, "This is most irregular," he muttered. "I will check this with Colonel Jones later."  
  
"You do that," said Joe.  
  
Mike proceeded to search Malcolm, doing a reasonably thorough job - but not thorough enough. The search produced nothing.  
  
"No belongings?" said Collier surprised, "Nothing at all?"  
  
"No. Funny that, ain't it?" said Joe, leering at Malcolm. "Not even a bunch of keys."  
  
"What about his papers... ID?" asked Collier.  
  
"He's carrying nothing," said Mike with a shrug.  
  
Malcolm said quickly, "The Colonel has all my documents." Surely that would give him some credibility?  
  
The warden's concerned manner changed as soon as he heard Malcolm's accent. "English are you?" He flicked through his ledger. "D 32 is unoccupied. Put him in there."  
  
"Thanks," said Joe. He grabbed Malcolm by an arm and propelled him through one of the doors into yet another long corridor. It had a low ceiling and was dimly lit. Substantial steel doors painted a pale green ran along both sides. Malcolm noticed that some of the cell doors had a metal tag slid across to reveal a red panel beneath, probably to indicate which were occupied.  
  
Malcolm was under no illusions as to his own status. If he were 'legit', as they put it, then there would be no official record of his incarceration, so no one to point the finger at. If he were found to be a fraud, then, well... the Colonel would have a totally free hand - no need to follow any inconvenient regulations.  
  
Their steps echoed as they continued to the end. Then a sharp right, a left, another corridor and Joe pulled Malcolm roughly to a stop before a door. Malcolm looked up to see '32' stenciled above it. Home sweet home, he thought cynically.  
  
Mike opened the door and Joe shoved Malcolm in. The small white-tiled cell had a window high in the far wall, a low bunk and a bucket. That was it. It stank to high heaven. Malcolm almost gagged at it.  
  
"Nice here, ain't it," laughed Joe. He spun Malcolm around to face him. "The Colonel's son was killed two weeks ago, fighting the English," he said, watching for his prisoner's reaction.  
  
Malcolm said nothing, did nothing except warily look at this angry man. Joe scowled. "I gotta watch out, in case you are legit, but somehow, I don't think you are." He took a step closer to Malcolm. "Too many good men have died. My kid brother was killed in Canada by the British Brigade."  
  
Malcolm could see the anger in Joe's eyes turn to unutterable grief and sorrow. His heart went out to the man. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.  
  
Face twisting in fury, Joe gave a bellow then drove his fist into Malcolm's stomach. As Malcolm doubled up, his assailant followed it with another pounding blow landing in the same place, then a chop to the base of his neck. Malcolm fell poleaxed.  
  
Through the pain, he heard Mike warn, "Be careful!"  
  
"It won't mark him," said Joe, kneeling down next to his victim. "Not where it shows, anyways."  
  
Malcolm couldn't gather the strength to move away as he fought to breathe, aware of Joe's bulk leaning over him. He tensed, waiting for another punch but Joe didn't go to hit him. He seized Malcolm's wrists and removed the handcuffs.  
  
Malcolm shakily drew his arms under him, gulping for air. He couldn't see very well through the tears of pain that filled his eyes but he heard with relief the soldiers leave the cell. The door slammed shut and was locked with a rattle and clunk. Echoing steps faded as the men left Malcolm to his own devices.  
  
All he could think was, 'That could have been worse.'

----------------------

"So - now you are feeling better, yes?" asked the alien officer, sitting in a casual pose next to Archer. He held a clipboard in one hand but at the moment it remained unconsulted.  
  
Archer gazed up at him. His chair was lower and reclined back a touch. "I think so," he replied. Then angry at his indecision he said, "Yes. I am." He looked around the room. There were posters showing heroic young men and women. One depicted them, marching forward into a bright light, a smiling alien showing the way ahead. A slogan splashed across it in stark red and black, but he didn't understand its meaning. The posters livened the place up, relieving the uniformly dull light gray walls.  
  
Archer's attention wandered down to his clothing. He had been given fresh things to wear: baggy pants and a clean white shirt. Smoothing his hands over his thighs, he noted the coarse texture, the heavy weight of the cloth. The floor was covered in black and white tiles. The pattern was regular... repeating.  
  
He jerked his head up with a start. Turning guiltily to the watching alien, he shrugged. "Sorry. I keep losing concentration."  
  
The alien nodded sympathetically. "It is only to be expected. You have been through some great trauma."  
  
Archer frowned at him. Some memory skittered by his thoughts before he could latch onto it and seize it. If only he could remember. He had a feeling that something exceedingly significant had happened - there was something it was imperative he recall - but it was impossible. He rubbed a finger over the bandage encircling his head.  
  
"Careful!" warned the alien. "Don't touch those injuries. It is important to allow them to heal."  
  
Archer gave a weak smile. "Sorry. I forgot," he said. At least he had heard that warning before though. That was progress, wasn't it?  
  
"There was an explosion!" Archer's words surprised himself. Where had that come from? He closed his eyes. "It was dark. Then a blast. It knocked me over... and then noise..."  
  
"Was anyone with you?" The voice was neutral, encouraging.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"In your mind, you see the explosion. You experience it. Look around. Who else is there?"  
  
Archer grimaced, his eyes still shut. "I'm alone! I told them to leave me."  
  
"And they did?"  
  
"Yes." He smiled.  
  
"All of them?"  
  
Archer nodded slowly. "They got out. There was only me left."  
  
"Who were the others?"  
  
Archer teased at the thought, and then gave an exasperated exhalation. "I don't know!" he cried out in frustration.  
  
"Don't worry. This is good. Very good." The alien's voice was comforting. "You will remember. Don't force it."  
  
Archer opened his eyes again, and took regular deep breaths, using the technique the alien had shown him in their previous session.  
  
"Excellent," said the alien. "Relax." He picked up a pen and wrote on his clipboard.  
  
Archer lay back, listening to the pen nib scratching its way across the paper. An incongruous sound, he thought. Why? Why was it incongruous?  
  
"Let us try something else." The alien pocketed his pen and placed the clipboard on the low table next to him. He stood and moved to a filing cabinet set against a wall. He picked up an object from its surface. Returning to his seat, he held the silvery object up in front of him.  
  
Archer gazed at it.  
  
"Do you recognize this?"  
  
Archer shook his head. "No."  
  
"It was on your person when you were found. Do you want to touch it?"  
  
Archer looked fearfully at the thing. What if he couldn't remember? Ever? This object was his but it was so strange.  
  
The alien seemed to understand. "Touching it will help. Here - take hold of it."  
  
Archer bit his lip, scowling at the proffered item. He tentatively reached out, and then closed his fingers over it and took it from the alien.  
  
It felt light in his hand. It also felt familiar. He ran his thumb along its edge, then, instinctively, gave a quick flip to open it.  
  
"It isn't working," he said immediately.  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"It should make a noise. A chirrup." He inspected it.  
  
"What does it do?" asked the alien.  
  
Engrossed in his inspection, Archer replied without thinking, "It's a communicator. For contacting my ship." His eyes widened as he realized the implications of what he had said.  
  
"And your ship is...?"  
  
"Enterprise. She's called Enterprise," breathed Archer.

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TBC 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

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**Chapter 7**  
  
Malcolm sat on his bunk, supporting his head in one hand with his elbow on his thigh and with his other arm wrapped around his abdomen gently exploring the tender areas. He was sore but didn't think he had suffered any serious injury at Joe's hand. However, the incident showed up the shortcomings of his escape plan. He had the beacon concealed in his shoe but there was no guarantee that he would be in a position to activate it if he needed to use it. He dismissed the worry. No matter. If Trip and Travis were here, there was no way he was going back without them. He was not prepared to abandon his friends.  
  
Soon after he had been dumped in his cell he had heard rapid steps outside. Then the spyhole plate had been dropped and someone had peered through it. Malcolm's guess was that it was the warden, Collier, wanting to make sure he wasn't dead already. Since then, he had had no visitors.  
  
Actually, apart from being used as a punching bag, this was turning out a lot better than he had any right to expect, he reflected. He had ended up in the most likely place to find out his friends if they were here - in the high security area of the camp behind the main office building. Not only that, he had also discovered that forcefield-protected domed building.  
  
He gave a grunt of astonishment at that. What was going on here?  
  
That domed building didn't show on their earlier scan results. The forcefield could explain why they had been unable to pick up any sign of the shuttlepod. Was the craft was contained within the forcefield? It might be having a screening effect, depending on what frequencies were being used.  
  
Malcolm massaged the base of his neck as he considered what to do. Wait for the papers to be validated or take the initiative?  
  
There was no guarantee their carefully prepared documents would fool the Colonel, even with all their precautions. Jones was clearly already suspicious. It appeared that Hoshi had already managed to create some jamming to buy time but she had impressed on them how difficult it would be to maintain that. If the ruse worked, all well and good, but if it failed they would be in no position to gain any information about Trip and Travis.  
  
Having seen the anachronistic forcefield, Malcolm now had another lead - and it could be a winner. He didn't think he would have such a good opportunity as this again. If he were caught... well, T'Pol had proved to be talented at improvising. She could disown him and go ahead on her own, or return to Enterprise and re-group.  
  
He decided. He was going to act. That made sense logically and it appealed to his nature. He hated waiting around for anything... particularly if that 'anything' was potentially another beating!  
  
Malcolm removed his tweed jacket. With deft fingers, he pulled its buttons off and jammed all but one in his pants' pockets. Then he picked at the collar, teasing out the end of a thin cord which he pulled on to remove it. He retrieved several other similar pieces cached in the hem and around the cuffs. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Finally he popped open his belt buckle and drew out a small metal device. He arranged the items on the bunk and looked at them in satisfaction. He had known they would come in useful!  
  
He rolled up his shirtsleeves to get down to work. Grabbing the jacket, he wrapped it around a blanket and laid it out to look like he was sleeping. He studied it critically, biting his lip in concentration. It wouldn't fool more than a cursory examination from the peephole, but then, perhaps that would be enough?  
  
He slid the bunk away from the rear wall. He soon had the microcharge which had masqueraded as a jacket button fixed low down on the wall, with the string explosive firmly attached around it as added 'oomph'. Most of the noise from the explosion would be deflected within the cell. Well - that should be what happened in theory.  
  
Pocketing the undeployed ordnance, Malcolm listened intently for any activity along the corridor or outside. He couldn't hear anyone.  
  
Taking a steadying breath, Malcolm picked up his tiny controller, lifted a protective arm before his face and pressed the initiator button.  
  
The muffled thump gratified Malcolm. He had reduced the charge size and it paid off. He would be surprised if anyone other than another armory officer would peg that as an explosion. He was even more gratified by the hole it blew in the cell wall. It was just large enough for him to get through, but no bigger. Judged to perfection, he thought with some smugness.  
  
Malcolm got down on his knees and poked his head through the hole, ready to pull back immediately if he found himself at the wrong end of a rifle. He was near the barbed wire fence surrounding the secure compound. Looking to left and right, he could see walls of other buildings but no personnel. He crawled through the hole, then turned and reached inside to pull the bunk back against the wall. It would hide the hole from anyone at the cell doorway. There was no way of hiding it from the outside, however. There was no time to waste.  
  
He stood up, trying to get his bearings. From the way the shadows fell, he decided to go to the right. He ran in a low crouch along the outside of the prison, listening out for anyone who might be ahead of him.  
  
Malcolm crouched down, and peered around a corner. He could see the forcefield-protected building. The building was small, having a single door, curved windowless walls and an arching roof. It reminded Malcolm of old-fashioned astronomical observatories. It was quite different to the other block-based architecture. A couple of soldiers walked wandered past the building but paid it no attention.  
  
This was going to be tricky. Malcolm retreated behind his corner, squatting down with his back to the wall. If he could disrupt the power supply to the field generator, he could lower the barrier to get inside. It was odds on, however, that the generator and supply were safely located inside the forcefield. Perhaps he had made the wrong choice after all, he worried. Soon the alarm would be raised and he would have achieved nothing.  
  
Malcolm took another look at the domed-building. The barrier shimmered again. Strange that. It was stable for much of the time, and then a series of closely timed tremors would disturb it. On the whole it was significantly more stable than his own past research efforts had ever managed, but that rippling... What could that be?  
  
It could be the spherical nature of the field. Some sort of feedback around the curved field causing interferences. That was it! He had never encountered that phenomenon because he had only worked with planar forcefields. In this one before him, the disturbances came in waves, and each set of ripples progressed around the sphere in a clockwise direction. If he could get close to a field emitter and place a charge nearby - it wouldn't have to be directly on an emitter or even damage it - and got the timing right, he might, just might, be able to disrupt the field sufficiently to push through. A big 'if' but his best chance.  
  
He had always been able to make a rapid decision when circumstances demanded it. He checked for passers-by. It was clear.  
  
Malcolm sprinted forwards. As he suspected, an emitter was located on the interior of the barrier. Malcolm placed a charge in line with it and a second charge at the next adjacent emitter. He took a few steps back, cast a look around, then waited for the ripple. It shimmered towards him. He detonated the microcharges. A rent in the field.  
  
Malcolm jumped forwards, feeling a resistance to his movement. He pushed and suddenly he was through, lying in a heap on the floor. Gathering himself together, he regained his feet and ran for the door. It was unlocked, and taking a deep breath, Malcolm stepped through it into the interior of the domed building.  
  
---------------------

Travis and Trip made their way cautiously from their quarters, keeping a look out for any stray Thraxians, and set off along the gallery landing. The handrail at the inner edge of the landing had one rail only and was just a touch too high for human comfort. They stayed near the wall to reduce the chances of being seen by anyone on other walkways, but the vertigo they both experienced also played a part in that choice. Although the space enclosed by the circular structure was huge, it was finite. The roof was solid, affording no view outside to the planet itself.  
  
Doors were located at regular intervals around the walkway. Each door was individually decorated, using a variety of pastel colors and geometrical motifs, and something that could be writing - a flowing script. The non-uniformity fitted in with their theory that they had been held in the aliens' own living quarters.  
  
They had been walking round the gallery for some minutes when they came upon a door of different construction, with fewer markings and wider than the others.  
  
Trip looked at it and then at Travis. "I wonder if this is a way off the gallery? I haven't seen anything else."  
  
Travis put out a tentative hand. At his light touch, the door slid silently upwards to reveal a small cubicle. "An elevator?"  
  
Well, thought Trip, nothing ventured...Squaring his shoulders, Trip took a step inside and turned to face Travis. Travis waited cautiously for a few seconds then joined him.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"How does this work?" puzzled Travis, running a finger along the edge of the opening. The action triggered a display to light up: a column with segments of different colors, one of which was brighter than the remainder.  
  
"I guess this is where we are," said Trip, touching the lit segment. At that, the door dropped shut. "And I suppose we have to tell it where we want to go. Any ideas, Travis?"  
  
"The bottom level," said Travis decisively.  
  
"Yeah. I think so too." Trip laid a finger on the appropriate panel, which duly illuminated as the original lit panel dimmed.  
  
"What do we say if we come across anyone?" said Travis, not relishing the thought of sharing the cubicle with the unnerving aliens.  
  
"We're looking for bears, remember!" joked Trip with a lift of his eyebrows.  
  
Travis laughed. It was wearing thin, but they both needed the diversion.  
  
The door slid upwards, revealing a different scene. There had been no sensation of movement but evidently they had been transported to the ground level. The galleries extended in tiered array far above them now. Before them was a level floor and a corridor of sorts defined by walls about two meters tall but lacking a ceiling so that the high roof was still visible.  
  
"I wonder how they built this place," said Travis enthralled, his eyes roving over the vista. "Are all their cities like this I wonder?"  
  
Trip spotted what seemed to be a part of the system of pipes he had noticed from their original vantage point high above. It was ahead and accessible via an opening in the right hand wall.  
  
"There's still no one around," said Travis. "Odd. Where is everyone?"  
  
"Let's take advantage of it while we can, Travis. I want to examine that over there." Trip pointed to the construction.  
  
The complex structure was formed from a mix of transparent cylindrical tubes and metallic versions, dully gleaming. They interwove in a web of curves, joints and straight sections, with diameters ranging from a hand's breadth to several meters. The network reached several levels high and Trip had to crane his head back to see its full height.  
  
The floor beneath their boots felt alive. An energy build up from the structure, imagined Trip, rather like static electricity. But this was no electrical system that he had ever seen. Colored lights pulsed along the translucent parts, pulses of pure energy rioting through the visible optical spectrum and beyond. No doubt the metal portions were conduits for more of the same, but why the difference? Circular panels were distributed around the structure, colored segments evidently acting as indicators. There were several panels with what appeared to be schematic representations, illustrating the web.  
  
Trip studied the enigma. Hoshi might have a gift for languages, but he hadn't found any power system yet, alien or human, that he hadn't been able to make some sense of.  
  
Travis waited nearby while Trip made his examination. He kept stepping over to the opening and then back to Trip, unable to settle.  
  
"Travis," said Trip eventually, not dragging his attention from the panels, "Please, choose where to stand and stay there, will ya?"  
  
"Sorry, Commander," said Travis. He was finding the influence of energy saturating the atmosphere here disturbing. He ran a hand over his hair and down his neck in a futile attempt to sever himself from the sensation. He wondered if that was why there was no one about on this level.  
  
Trip traced a path though the pipes, over his head, into the center, off to a far part of the arrangement, then referred to the schematic. He nodded. That did make sense. They were using an anti-matter/matter generator arrangement piggybacked with some other basis of generation, perhaps at a quantum level.  
  
There were huge quantities of energy at use here, being manipulated. He wondered why the Thraxians required so much. It might even be sufficient to power a whole planetary infrastructure. There were parts where excess levels could be filtered off, dumped in loads cooled by liquefied gases, if he read the symbols correctly. In the context of this system, that did seem to be correct. Emergency shutdown valves were unmistakable. Even the most non-technically minded person would be able to find and operate them.  
  
Stepping away from the generator, Trip sighted along the major conduits, running in a radial pattern into the center of the space. They were near a single one of these, but he knew now that there were many, equally as power capable, running to a focus.  
  
"This is some serious piece of engineering," he said to Travis. "Really impressive. I just don't know what they are doing with it all." He squinted up at the radial pipes extending up at an angle to meet at the center rather like the spokes of a parasol.  
  
"What now, Commander?" asked Travis.  
  
Trip ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek in contemplation, his fingers rubbing his face. "I'd like to see what else they've got here. Let's make for the middle of this place. That's where the main conductors are aligned. Perhaps we can discover what they do with all this. Perhaps it's associated with find their inter-planetary transport system."  
  
The two men walked along the corridor but had not gone far when they saw a dark colored strip running along the floor next to the each wall. The strip material also had a different texture to that of the floor. A line of yellow posts marked the starting points of the two strips.  
  
"Strange," remarked Travis.  
  
"Uh huh," said Trip crouching down to examine the left hand strip. He warily stretched out a hand and placed his palm on the roughened surface. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, jumping back, as his hand was swept to one side.  
  
"A moving walkway," said Travis happily. "That'll save some time."  
  
"Shall we?" said Trip with a grin.  
  
"Why not?" said Travis, grinning at him. He stepped onto the walkway, almost expecting to end up on his backside, but the walkway swung into a most gentle action. Trip had no difficulty following his lead.  
  
They stood still while the walkway did the hard work, smoothly gaining in speed. They would soon be at the center of this intriguing place.

--------------------

What had he done?!  
  
Archer gasped as his body jerked, his breathing paralyzed for a moment. Startling bright images flashed through his mind's eye. Enterprise hanging jewel-like in space. Trip, T'Pol. Earth. That dreadful sphere of destruction, ruthless in its intent.  
  
The struggle. The explosion. Destruction.  
  
His breath caught as it instantaneously flooded into his knowledge. All of it.  
  
He knew who he was. What he'd done.  
  
Captain Jonathon Archer of Earth's flagship, Enterprise, on a desperate mission to save Earth from obliteration. He had succeeded... hadn't he? That final tremendous force which had caught him, tossed him around effortlessly. That was when the weapon was entirely destroyed.  
  
He relaxed as he remembered. There could be no doubt. It had worked. That terrible confusion could mean nothing less.  
  
And there was this evidence. He was now safely back on Earth. He closed his eyes in luxurious relief, relaxing back.  
  
Except...  
  
The warm tranquility of satisfaction fled.  
  
The aliens? The old uniforms... the surroundings... everything.  
  
A cold hand gripped his guts. This was utterly, exceedingly wrong. This was not right.  
  
He clutched at the armrests of the low recliner he was sitting on, seeking stability in a shifting world. For a few brief moments his self-composure had returned. Now he was adrift once more. At least now, he had the knowledge of who he was. That brought a scintilla of comfort.  
  
An orderly came over, said something in German and pulled at the throw covering his legs, adjusting it to make his charge more comfortable.  
  
Archer watched the orderly in horror as he worked away, oblivious to Archer's new understanding. This man was wearing a uniform straight out of a history book, down to a swastika on his arm. So, his memories of what he had seen here were not false then. What the hell had happened? How had he got here?  
  
Then the orderly paused, transfixed by Archer's hands. Archer glanced down at them too. His knuckles showed white, they were trembling a little. The orderly looked searchingly at Archer with narrowed eyes. He said something - it had a questioning tone.  
  
The orderly stood slowly. He moved across to the wall and pressed a call button.  
  
Archer's nightmare solidified when the door opened to admit an alien, presumably alerted by the orderly's call. Archer stiffened as he took in the strangeness of the creature clothed in that uniform. An alien in Nazi gear and accepted without question by the orderly? No, this couldn't be right. He had to be hallucinating... didn't he?  
  
The alien spoke quietly with the orderly then came over to Archer, pulling up a chair to sit besides him. Archer recognized him as the individual who had been working with him previously. So, if he was hallucinating, at least he was self-consistent. He gave an unamused grunt.  
  
The alien settled comfortably in the chair and exposed sharp, white teeth. "I understand that you have become agitated again. What is the matter? I thought you were beyond this now." The tone was considerate, warm - that of a concerned friend.  
  
Archer didn't know how to answer. He did not want to have anything to do with this... aberration, not until he had had time to think about what it all meant. His eyes flickered over the alien and his uniform, noting unsettling details that had not bothered him before. He cleared his throat. "Uhh. I'm okay," he said eventually.  
  
"Good, good. You do appear stressed however. What is the matter?"  
  
"No. I'm fine." He tried to smile but didn't succeed.  
  
"Shall we discuss where we had got to in our last talk?"  
  
Shock ran through Archer's body. My God! He had mentioned Enterprise - he remembered that. What else had he casually disclosed, with no thought for the consequences? Desperately trying to remember, he shook his head. "No. I'm fine. I need to rest, that's all."  
  
"I'm not so sure of that," said the alien sharply, red eyes glittering. "What are you hiding?"  
  
"Nothing. Thanks for your concern."  
  
The alien came closer. He said quietly, "You have remembered more, haven't you? You know who you are?"  
  
Archer consciously relaxed his muscles, allowing himself to sink back. He gave a regretful smile. "Unfortunately not. I still need some time."  
  
"You can't fool me! I know all there is to know about humans." In a swift fluid movement, the alien reached his hand into a pocket and pulled out a hypodermic. He plunged it into Archer's arm before he could even think about evading it.  
  
As darkness closed around him, Archer heard that insidious voice. "A sedative. You will co-operate, whether you wish it or not."

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TBC  
  
A/N: I hope the various threads aren't too confusing. They come together... eventually!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thank you for continuing to review this story. It's useful to know which parts are more successful.

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**Chapter 8**  
  
With trepidation, Malcolm entered the domed building, senses on maximum alert. He found himself in a hallway with six doors leading off it. Considering the forcefield surrounding this place, he had expected it to be special but found it uninspiring - block flooring and brown-painted wooden doors; cream walls; incandescent light bulbs for illumination. No different in truth to the rest of the camp he had seen.  
  
Muscles taut, he tried the first door to his left, ready for action if it turned out to be occupied. There was no one in it and he breathed a little easier. The room had twenty or so chairs crammed in, arranged in rows facing a large local area map hung on the wall. An antique optical projector sat on a small table at the rear. Malcolm surmised this was a briefing room. He quickly cast an eye over the map but it carried no significant information.  
  
Wasting no time, Malcolm resumed his inspection. The next room was empty, as was the next... and the next.  
  
Four rooms dealt with and nothing. Malcolm had hoped this small building might consist of a workshop area or something like that where the shuttlepod might have been taken - some place that demanded additional security. He had even, at the back of his mind, had a hope that he would discover his friends here.  
  
A wave of acute disappointment swept over him. What was the point of a forcefield around this place? Was he missing something obvious?  
  
He had two more rooms to investigate. No time to dawdle.  
  
Malcolm approached the first of them, hand outstretched to turn the doorknob. He put his hand on it, then felt it move beneath his fingers. Someone was on the other side! He snatched his hand away as if burnt and leapt back.  
  
The door opened a crack... and then paused. A low murmur of conversation drifted from within. Thanking his lucky stars, Malcolm made for the room opposite and darted inside, quietly pulling the door shut behind him. Hugging an arm around his stomach to support his sore midriff - jolted by his rapid retreat - Malcolm put an ear to the door. The voices resolved into speech as their owners stepped out into the lobby.  
  
"So, Colonel. Is everything clear?" said a first person - male, deep pitched, North American accent.  
  
"Yes, thank you, General. They will be interrogated. Have no doubt, we will discover who they are working for and what they know," said a second voice.  
  
It sounded like Colonel Jones. Malcolm gave a shiver at the Colonel's implacable conviction of his success, no doubt gained through plenty of experience. Malcolm knew all too well what that might entail, courtesy of his security training and interest in history - man's inhumanity to man. He was pretty sure that they were talking about him and T'Pol. He bit his lip, trying to convince himself that T'Pol would be able to deal with them. If necessary, she could transport out. But would she be willing to use that option, believing as she did that the people of this world were at a low stage of technical development?  
  
"Major, you have your orders," said the General.  
  
"Yes, Sir. I am to take an armored column to Fort Alpha Gamma 3 to join up with the 3rd Division."  
  
"If that is all, gentlemen, dismissed."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Malcolm opened his door a crack and put an eye to it. The uniformed backs of three men were within view. The men saluted one other and two stepped out through the entrance door. As they turned to leave, Malcolm had confirmation that one was Colonel Jones. He didn't recognize the Major.  
  
The General turned, and for a fraction of a second, Malcolm had a full view of his face.  
  
It was an alien! A blue skinned alien. Here. On this backward Earth.  
  
Malcolm pulled back, absolutely stunned, whipping the door shut but still retaining sufficient presence of mind to do it gently. He schooled himself to breathe quiet easy breaths and ran a shaky hand through his hair. An alien! What was an alien doing here and, most incredibly, in an American General's uniform? Giving orders?  
  
He had an uncomfortable thought. Did the alien have any way to detect him?  
  
He heard footsteps moving away. Malcolm cautiously opened his door a crack and saw the alien enter the room from which the three had previously emerged. Swallowing hard, Malcolm crept into the lobby and padded over. He listened at the door but could hear nothing.  
  
Now he had a choice to make. Should he leave the building and transport back to Enterprise? There had to be some way of disabling the forcefield from inside in order to leave. The Colonel and Major had evidently managed it. Or should he find out more about this alien?  
  
He decided to investigate further. Additional information was more important. Perhaps he could get the alien to talk?  
  
Malcolm hadn't seen a weapon on the alien, although that didn't mean he wasn't carrying one. The alien was of large build and apparently muscular, but Malcolm thought he could deal with him, especially with the advantage of surprise on his side.  
  
He patted the munitions in his pockets. The explosives were no good in a fight, but he still had his tie - and the thin thread of high-tensile thread that had been prudently added along its length. He wrapped one end of the tie around his left hand and the other around his right. He placed his right hand on the doorknob and readied himself.  
  
Giving a rapid twist, Malcolm yanked open the door and launched himself into the room.  
  
The room was empty!  
  
Malcolm came to a ragged halt, looking about him. There was no other exit. Had the alien transported away, and if so, to where? They had detected no ships in orbit. Of course, thought Malcolm with a chill, if this building didn't show on their sensors, then it was entirely possible that any ship was invisible to them also. He should leave now and warn Enterprise... find a way also of warning T'Pol and extracting her.  
  
Solely to be thorough, Malcolm made a rapid circuit of the room, running a hand along the walls in an attempt to detect any hidden door.  
  
He didn't expect to find anything from such a low-tech approach. Thus he was taken aback when a touch on the wall opposite the door caused it to dissolve into a pale blue shimming curtain. Malcolm stared at the phenomenon wide-eyed. Steeling himself, he took a wary step up to the rippling sheet of light, then through it.  
  
He emerged in another room, which was uninhabited and dominated by a central console. Malcolm couldn't make anything of the alien symbols around the console's frame. He had no idea what its purpose was. A control panel, perhaps?  
  
There was an open doorway ahead. Malcolm ran to it and stood close to the wall, listening. Hearing nothing, he cautiously peered around and through the opening.  
  
And gasped, open eyed, unbelieving.  
  
He gazed in awe at the vast vault above him: a multitude times larger than the volume of the domed building as gauged from its exterior dimensions.  
  
What the hell was this?! 

---------------------------

In the waiting room of the main building, T'Pol had sat patiently, awaiting developments, under the bored gaze of the guard. She had not attempted to draw him into conversation and he had been quite content to remain silent and not all that watchful. Before her lay an untouched ham sandwich, black coffee and an apple core. She had consumed the apple as she believed it important to the deception that she eat something. After all, in wartime, scarcity made food to be desired.  
  
She had been sitting in the place for one hour and twenty five minutes, approximately. Once she would have been more precise in her assessment but her time with humans had influenced her in many ways.  
  
T'Pol welcomed the time alone as an opportunity to consider their situation. She had been making a great deal of progress. She had decided on a method of detecting if this place was their own Universe or a parallel one, and already had sufficient data to carry out the analysis when she returned to Enterprise. That was most satisfying.  
  
The continuing absence of information concerning Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather was disturbing however.  
  
She had erred in her judgement of her and the Lieutenant's acceptance by the Colonel. He had been extremely suspicious. Presumably Ensign Sato had been successful in distorting any remote communication between this base and its headquarters. If that had not been so, then they would already be under accusation. But in that event, why had the Colonel not resumed his meeting with them in an attempt to investigate them? If they truly had been intelligence officers, any delay by him could be crucial to their war-effort. Should she should press the point and progress matters herself?  
  
She had decided to ask to see the Colonel when her sharp ears heard voices in the corridor. She glanced at the guard - he displayed no sign of hearing anything. She was certain a human ear would not be sufficiently sensitive to find the conversation audible.  
  
T'Pol identified the Colonel's deep baritone and a second voice, a soldier in his command judging by his deference.  
  
"How did he escape?" said the Colonel.  
  
"He made a hole in the cell's outside wall, Sir."  
  
"How? Those walls are absolutely solid." The Colonel spoke more loudly.  
  
"We don't know, Sir. He was searched and was carrying nothing on him."  
  
There was a pause and T'Pol wondered if they had moved away.  
  
Then the Colonel spoke. "Put out an alert for Reed. Capture him alive if possible. He has some questions to answer."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Another voice chimed in. "Looks like this settles it. They're not kosher."  
  
"I had already worked that out, Major. Their papers didn't hold up when I spoke to the General." He paused. "We have the woman. I'll see what I can get out of her."  
  
T'Pol considered this data. So, the Lieutenant had been held prisoner but escaped. The Colonel had somehow made contact with the General, revealing their deception.  
  
She stood up, causing the guard to jump a little.  
  
"I need to... stretch my legs," she said, selecting a suitable idiom.  
  
The guard grunted his approval. She walked around the room. As she passed the man, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He was startled by the touch, but before he could react, the Vulcan nerve pinch had rendered him unconscious.  
  
T'Pol gave a triple rap of her left heel. That would activate the emergency beacon. She heard more voices outside as she was transported to safety back to Enterprise.

-----------------------------------

When he next regained consciousness, Archer found himself strapped into a chair, secured around his arms and legs. His head was pounding. Whatever that alien had used on him as a sedative had not agreed with him. The room he was in was unfamiliar. Functional, stark. White walls, trays of bright metal instruments, a smell of antiseptic. He coughed, feeling phlegm rising in his chest.  
  
He was not alone. The alien stepped around in front of him. He stood silently, watching Archer. When the alien was satisfied he was aware, he said, "You have a choice. You talk to me of your own accord or I will be forced to use more persuasive means. I do not care. It is up to you."  
  
Archer nodded. He believed him. Mentally crossing his fingers, he replied, "I'll tell you what you want to know."  
  
The alien gave an unpleasant laugh. "Do you think I am stupid? Do you not feel the electrodes? They enable me to read every response. You are an open book to me." He gestured behind Archer.  
  
Frowning, Archer tentatively moved his head around. He felt a pull from wires attached to his head. Some method of lie detection, he supposed. It appeared primitive but that was no reason to suppose this alien couldn't achieve reliable results. It didn't matter. He had to try. He must not give away any significant information.  
  
The alien sat down next to Archer. He drew his chair close, his breath warm on Archer's skin. "We will start with something easy. What is the name of your ship?"  
  
Archer paused. Had he dreamt this before?  
  
The alien said, with some asperity, "I already know this. You have revealed it to me. I think I am wasting my time, giving you a choice."  
  
"No," grunted Archer. "I will co-operate." He had to retain some control over what he said. "My ship is called Enterprise." He closed his eyes briefly at the betrayal.  
  
The alien seemed pleased. "Excellent. Now we make progress. What class vessel is she?"  
  
"Class?"  
  
"Type, kind. What is her function?"  
  
"She is an explorer." And would be again, he hoped. Archer worried over how much to tell. What was safe?  
  
The alien checked something behind Archer. A monitor? Was that where he got the data from the electrodes? The alien sat back. "Hhmm. That appears extravagant. An explorer in time of war. I think there is more to her than that."  
  
"She has defenses." But we won't go into those if I can help it, thought Archer.  
  
"Is she a frigate, destroyer, larger...?"  
  
"Uhh. There is no direct correlation." True enough.  
  
The alien was puzzled as he looked at his read-outs. He exhaled slowly as he considered his next question. "Who are you?"  
  
"My name is Jonathon Archer."  
  
"What rank?"  
  
"Captain," admitted Archer. After all, giving one's name and rank was generally deemed acceptable.  
  
"Really! How intriguing. So, Captain Archer. What side are you on? You are not English."  
  
"I'm on Earth's side."  
  
"That makes no sense," snapped the alien crossly.  
  
"It's true, nevertheless." He gazed steadily at his interrogator.  
  
"How many others of your comrades are here?"  
  
Archer shook his head. "I don't know. I wish I did. None, I think."  
  
"They are with your ship, then? Where is she?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
The alien growled, a low threatening rumble. "You test my patience. A Captain who doesn't know where his ship is? That is unbelievable incompetence, don't you think?"  
  
Anger jumped to the surface. "I don't know where my ship is!" Archer insisted. She was unobtainable. He didn't think he would ever see Enterprise again. He flexed his muscles uselessly against his bindings.  
  
The alien sighed. "This is no good. We will use the alternative method."  
  
"But I am co-operating!" said Archer, trying to hide his alarm.  
  
"Not sufficiently. You are not being very helpful. Your answers make no sense."  
  
The alien stood over Archer then left the room.  
  
Archer pulled at full strength, desperate to get free, but there was no give at all in the straps holding him fast. He had to stay put and wait. The time passed slowly. He wondered if this was part of the interrogation technique. Making him stew. He was most apprehensive about what was to come.  
  
The alien re-entered the room. He grinned at his captive. "I have consulted with colleagues. They agree with my proposal. You will find, Captain Archer, that you will soon become much more amenable." He moved to a tray and picked up a hypodermic needle. He carefully filled it with a straw-colored fluid, giving Archer sideways calculating looks as he did so.  
  
Archer swallowed. He tried to impress on his brain not to respond, to project ignorance, but he had a sinking feeling. If they had an understanding of human physiology as the alien claimed then they probably also had access to effective truth drugs.  
  
The alien stepped over. He pulled Archer's right sleeve up and administered the injection. Archer gritted his teeth against it. It seemed to take forever to deliver the dose. A second one followed.  
  
The effects became apparent almost immediately. Archer felt a warmth caressing him, the warmth of a summer sun. The world softened into a haze around him, the anxieties eased. This was so pleasant. The tensions ebbed away and he was content. It had been so long.  
  
A voice besides him interrupted his dreamy state. He turned his head to the sound. The alien was there -the one who had been so helpful to him. Archer narrowed his eyes in concentration. What was he saying?  
  
"Captain?"  
  
Archer smiled indulgently. "Yes?"  
  
"Tell me about yourself." The voice was caressing, warm.  
  
Where to start? "My name is Jonathon Archer..." He drifted away, images of home, his parents, Enterprise... too much. How to tell...?  
  
"Yes... and your ship?"  
  
"Enterprise! The best ship in the fleet! She's capable of warp 5. Warp 5! Thanks to my dad..."  
  
The alien drew back, shock written on his face.  
  
Archer saw it. "It's okay," he soothed. "It's not a problem..."  
  
The alien said, "When you say 'warp', what do you mean?"  
  
Archer tried to make the appropriate hand movements, to swish through space, but couldn't move it for some reason. He shrugged. It didn't matter. "'Warp'. You know... warps space. To travel."  
  
The alien exclaimed, "Enterprise is a space vessel!?"  
  
"Uh huh. Biggest and best ever. Neptune and back in six minutes!" Archer grinned. Enterprise was beautiful.  
  
The alien said something in another language.  
  
Archer said, "What? Don't understand."  
  
"My apologies. Captain... where is Enterprise now?"  
  
Noooo. Tears sprung in his eyes. "Lost! She's gone. I've gone. Left her..." She was far, far away. He was lost in time.  
  
"Where is she?" insisted the quiet encouraging voice.  
  
"In the future... I think. I'm in the past. Must be. And Enterprise is far away. In the Expanse." Archer gazed quizzically at the alien. He really wanted to help him, but didn't understand himself.  
  
The alien said slowly, "Are you alone in the past?"  
  
Archer nodded mournfully. "Yes," he whispered.  
  
"How far in the past are you?"  
  
"Hundreds of years. Must be..." Archer was becoming so deliciously tired. He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes. So comfortable...  
  
"Don't sleep yet, Captain," said the alien, digging a sharp talon into Archer's forearm.  
  
"Ow! Why d'you do that?"  
  
"I need to know more. How did you get here?"  
  
"Don't know. Explosion. Te'prl... Temporal mechanics... time travel...?" He slipped away, blissfully asleep.  
  
The alien stared thoughtfully at the man. He tapped a talon on a metal surface in a regular beat.

------------------------------

The central zone grew larger before them as Trip and Travis rode on the moving walkway. Trip craned his head upwards, tracking the power conduits that were running alongside.  
  
Travis was studying the device beneath their feet. "I think this is one way. That one on the other side of the corridor must be for the return journey. I wonder how it deals with more than one person or group on it at a time?"  
  
"Perhaps this movement is localized? Sort of like a ripple, or series of ripples." Trip looked down as well. "It's difficult to make out though."  
  
Travis pointed ahead. "I think we should get off now," he said. They had not much further to go in his estimation.  
  
"It's going fast, Travis. We can't just jump off."  
  
Travis turned to face Trip. "Unless you can find some way of getting it to stop, I think we'll have to."  
  
Trip shook his head. They had gained considerable speed and were sure to get hurt. As he deliberated, however, their dilemma was solved for them. The walkway began to gradually slow. A line of yellow posts appeared ahead of them.  
  
"The end of the line," said Trip with a grin of relief.  
  
The walkway came to a smooth halt. The two men stepped off with Trip leading the way. He was keen to see what happened to the power network at this central zone.  
  
The radial pipes joined a number of circular pipes at intervals around their circumferences. "Hmm," said Trip to himself. "These all seem to be connected here." He spotted some panels to one side. "These appear to allow regulation of the power. Look, these are cut-off valves, adjustable I guess. This is a safety mechanism... I think."  
  
Travis watched as Trip indicated several parts of the structure, marveling at his instinct in such matters. Then he stiffened. He had heard something.  
  
Travis grasped Trip's arm and pulled him down behind a low wall. "Shh," he whispered. "Someone's coming."  
  
Trip couldn't hear anything at first but then he too heard the voices floating across the space. He pulled out his communicator and set the volume on low. The voices translated into English.  
  
"It would be fun!" said a first low-pitched voice. Was that Strixam?  
  
"Fun!" retorted the second, higher and more musical. "Madness, you mean, Strixam."  
  
"Oh. Of course it is. But what's wrong with that? Some unpredictability. With their knowledge, we could throw them into the mix, see what happens." Strixam was enthusiastic about something.  
  
"No, it would spoil things. In any case, we would have to tell Rav and the others beforehand. They have to agree to it. It's too big a change not to. It would alter the odds. Can you imagine his reaction if we didn't?"  
  
"Hold on... I'm getting a message."  
  
Travis and Trip eyed each other as the two aliens stopped talking. They had been gradually walking toward the humans and now sounded perhaps fifteen meters away.  
  
"Understood," said Strixam. "Well, Makkik. Our decision is taken from us - for now. Our two 'friends' are no longer in their quarters."  
  
"How did they get out?"  
  
"I don't know. They didn't say. Oh... Another report. Wait." There was a pause, then Strixam continued, "Yes. Do it."  
  
Behind their wall, Trip and Travis gazed at each other. They heard new arrivals marching into the area, booted feet getting closer. And closer. The light darkened. They looked up to see several Thraxians standing over them, weapons directed at the escapees.  
  
"Uh oh," said Travis, standing slowly, careful to keep his hands in full view of the aliens.  
  
Trip sighed and stood also. "Hi, guys," he tried in a considerably more carefree tone than he felt. "We wanted to take some exercise. Hope that's okay?" He tried to ignore the weapons pointed in their direction.

* * *

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thank you for the reviews. I'm glad this is still holding the interest. There is some technobabble in this and later chapters. I've tried to make it plausible (inasmuch as technobabble ever can be plausible!) and hope that when it comes into play, it will be quite clear what its impact is. Hmm. I hope.

* * *

****

**Chapter 9**

Trip stepped out from his hiding place followed by Travis. The three Thraxians ringing them held their weapons on the two humans, ready for action at the slightest provocation. Strixam and another alien – that must be Makkik, thought Trip - exchanged amused looks. At least, Trip thought he detected a hint of amusement in those unearthly red eyes, but who could really tell where aliens were concerned? Even those you thought you knew could still spring surprises.

"Bring them here," ordered Strixam.

Trip strolled across, ignoring the armed Thraxians, with Travis walking alongside him. He was going to play the part of guest for as long as he could.

"Strixam!" Trip greeted the alien cheerfully and waved a hand in the direction of the power grid. "We were admiring your engineering systems here. Impressive. We don't have anything like that."

Strixam said, "You don't have anything like that... in the future?"

"No. This is quite special," said Trip, smiling appreciatively. One thing they were sure about was that they had not traveled back in time, but he wasn't going to tell these aliens that. They might merely be academics studying human sociology, but he had learned caution on his tour with Enterprise. And flattery couldn't hurt.

Gesturing with his hand and extending a single talon, Strixam introduced his companion. "This is my colleague, Makkik."

Makkik grinned and executed a small bow to each officer in turn. "I am pleased to meet you. Strixam has told me about you."

"Nothing bad, I hope," said Trip, with a sly glance at Travis.

"Have you done anything bad?" Strixam seemed to be joking. They had a sense of humor then, thought Trip. Not all aliens possessed that.

"Not us," answered Travis lightly.

"Except tamper with your door lock?" countered Strixam.

"It's not damaged," said Trip. "We needed to take some exercise. We didn't think there would be a problem with that. There isn't, is there?" He raised an eyebrow.

Makkik said, "Actually, it is good timing. We are meeting our friend Garram. We think you should meet him too, Tucker, Mayweather. Please come with us."

Strixam set off and the others trailed behind. Trip considered their options, casually observing the aliens. There were too many of them and they were too well armed for him and Travis to try anything. They would have to play along and take whatever chances were presented. They would probably need the aliens' co-operation if they were ever to return back to Earth - he had not seen any method for making the return journey. Trip hoped the aliens' offer to get them home had been genuine. Fascinating though this place was, he would far rather be within the familiar confines of Enterprise and back with his friends. Trip met Makkik's gaze and gave a weak smile.

The party stopped when they reached a spacious curved chamber with several doors leading from it. Trip and Travis glanced at each other. Who was this Garram character? Was he going to help them return to Earth?

Strixam and Makkik were talking but too quietly to be heard by the humans. Trip exhaled slowly, waiting, wondering.

Eventually, a far door opened to admit another Thraxian.

Trip and Travis gawked in slack-jawed astonishment.

This Thraxian had the same countenance and rolling gait as their companions but this one was dressed differently. No robes here. This alien was wearing a World War 2 American army uniform. A General no less.

Trip grimaced, transfixed at the peculiar sight. What was this? Was it for his and Travis' benefit? An attempt to make them feel at home? If so, the aliens had sure screwed up here!

"Garram! said Strixam, striding up to the strangely clothed Thraxian and slapping him on his shoulder. "How are you getting on? Winning?!"

Garram gave a short laugh. "You know perfectly well. Still, don't worry. We will prevail!" Several more Thraxians entered the room. Some of these were also dressed as high-ranking WW2 American officers.

Trip felt the ground shift at this incredible scene. A whole bunch of unlikely aliens wearing World War 2 clothes... uniforms. He shook his head rapidly, eyes closed. This can't be real, he thought. It must be a dream. Had he been hallucinating? He re-opened his eyes. No change.

At his side, Travis muttered, "This must be a dream!"

Trip said, "Glad you think so too!" He placed a steadying hand on Travis' arm, as much for his own reassurance as that of the young helmsman. He had come across some very strange things indeed in his time on Enterprise, but this was way up there with the best... or worse... of them.

"Look what we've found!" exclaimed Strixam in Garram's direction, indicating the humans. "Interlopers!"

Garram scrutinized them. "Interesting uniforms. Where are they from?"

"We think... don't laugh... they are from the future!" declared Makkik.

Strixam added, "They must be from the future. They are certainly more sophisticated than any of the other humans. Don't forget that vehicle of theirs."

Garram said to Strixam, "Rav thinks he has a surprise for us. I wonder if it is related?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if it were. We must get him here too."

Makkik nodded. "I will contact him." He hurried off out of the room.

Garram stared intently at Trip then at Travis. "Hi," he drawled in English. "I'm Garram. Who are you?"

"Uh, Tucker and Mayweather." Trip resisted the urge to call him 'General'.

"You American?"

"I'm from North America. Mayweather is... as well."

Garram nodded. "I see. How did you get here?"

Trip shook his head. "We don't know. We just want to get back to Earth. Your friend Strixam told us that should be possible."

"Hmm," said Garram, still running his eyes over them.

"Uh, why are you in uniform?" asked Trip. "Does it help you observe?"

Garram said, "Excuse me?"

"Your anthrop... I mean... xenopological studies?" said Trip.

"Yeah," butted in Travis, too intrigued to be polite. "Don't they notice you're not human?"

Garram said in bemusement, "The humans on Earth? Yes... they notice, of course. Xeno...?"

Strixam moved to intercept. "I explained about our work here, Garram. They know about the xenopological studies we are carrying out."

"What?"

"I had to tell them. As they are from the future I didn't think it would matter."

"Oh, I see," said Garram tugging down on his jacket and its slew of medal ribbons. "I didn't realize."

Strixam said to the humans, "Don't worry. It will soon become clear."

Trip said quietly, "I certainly hope so."

Strixam and Garram grinned at him. Trip smiled back, not his most charming version.

-------------------

Malcolm stood frozen, looking up at the vast vault above him. He didn't know how high it was but from the hazy atmosphere, it far outstripped anything on Earth, on the Earth he knew.

He came to his senses, and checked around. There were walls perhaps two meters high dividing up the space. He appeared to be alone, although that could change at any second. To his left, he could see an opening in the wall opposite. He made for it, keeping to a low crouch as he ran. He still had his tie wrapped around his hands.

He dropped down low and warily pushed his head around the edge of the opening. In front of him stretched a large broadly circular room, bounded about its periphery by the now familiar two meter high barrier. Numerous aliens similar to the General were present. Many of them were seated at desks, each having an individual display. Some aliens were standing in groups or ambling around, talking to one another. The room was dominated by three large displays. The central one showed a map of the North American continent. Flashing symbols were distributed over it. The other ones showed what seemed to be views around the continent, switching at intervals.

What flummoxed Malcolm was a number of aliens in American-style uniforms. A sudden roar from a group of aliens at some far desks was met with excitement by everyone in the room. An announcement floated over the assembly, and - shockingly - it was in English! "Another battle won at Grid Reference B551625. Enemy in retreat. Large scale casualties," it said.

Malcolm could make no sense of any of this but had seen more than enough. It was time for a strategic retreat of his own. It was imperative he return to Enterprise.

Malcolm stood and turned, and his stomach did a rapid flip. Damn! Two aliens had seen him. They were between him and his exit. He heard steps behind him. More of them - too many to fight.

Malcolm darted to his right and ran, but to no avail. He couldn't evade them. The aliens clawed at him as he battled with them, twisting, flailing, trying everything he knew to get free. It was no good. He was overwhelmed. Malcolm considered activating his beacon but knew immediately that was not an option. This space was shielded. Enterprise would not pick anything up. He would merely alert his captors to his ship's presence, if they didn't already know she was there, that is.

Panting heavily, Malcolm was pinned against a wall, arms held wide and a strong hand at his back pushing him against the wall. Another hand at his neck, talons extended, completed the pinion. Then his arms were brought down behind him and for the second time that day he found himself restrained. This time he had one forearm clamped near wrist and elbow to the other behind his back, pulling his sore stomach muscles taut.

Alien hands grabbed his arms, drawing blood with their sharp nails. Malcolm struggled in protest, furious at allowing himself to be apprehended. He dug his feet in but had no choice in the matter as he was dragged along.

--------------

Back on board Enterprise, T'Pol resumed her analysis. She was concerned for Lieutenant Reed but with no information as to his whereabouts, there was no point in seeking him on the planet's surface. Given that the Colonel had been trying to find him, it suggested that the Lieutenant was free. As he had not made use of his emergency beacon, he must be gathering more useful intelligence. She expected him to return when he had finished.

T'Pol concentrated initially on the most important part of their situation: returning to their home Universe. She had been considering their location in time and space. Her deductions from available evidence indicated that Enterprise had been thrown into another Universe but had not traveled in time.

On that basis, she had carried out an analysis, necessarily incomplete, on the effects of the destruction of the Expanse. The unleashed ripple in the fabric of their Universe had swept them along. Probably Enterprise had been affected because she had been at the very epicenter of the energy pulse. However, it had not explained why they had entered another Universe, and in particular, this Universe.

T'Pol made the calculations regarding the energy requirements to reverse the phenomenon. She noted that the stretching of the space-time fabric would be followed in due course by a relaxation as the strained surfaces were drawn together once more. That was an interesting aspect. It promised the possibility of extracting some of that relaxation energy to enable their return home. Unfortunately, the relaxation would be at a significantly slower rate, and they would be unable to harvest sufficient energy. She had yet to inform the crew.

Although it was not logical, given their inability to garner the required energy levels, T'Pol had also made an effort in identifying their home Universe in such a way as to distinguish it from others. The quantum signature found in all matter was the key, as she had realized when waiting for the Colonel. By selecting certain states of sub-atomic matter, it was possible to uniquely identify a Universe, providing sufficient parameters were used. T'Pol had produced a statement of their own Universe. Using data from her shoes and other artifacts from this planet, T'Pol determined that the Universe in which they were now located had many similarities but also several identifiable distinct states. It would be feasible to modify a scanner to read a spread of sub-atomic states in matter and extrapolate a signature unique to each Universe.

Of course, having identified a method of discriminating their Universe, there still remained a problem in selecting it as a destination, even should sufficient energy be available to attempt the journey.

Some parts of the puzzle had been solved but they faced additional difficulties. In the absence of other possibilities, T'Pol began work on the scanner modifications.

-------------------

"Yes," put in Makkik forcefully to his Thraxian companions. "They unbalance the odds by being here. This is supposed to be evenly matched." He extended a talon in emphasis.

"But it could be very interesting..."

"It's already interesting! We have all we need as it is. Perhaps if it were at the start..."

Trip was having a problem making sense of any of this. The Thraxians were chattering away amongst themselves but he felt like he was missing the key to the conversations. He stole a look at Travis. Judging by his bewildered appearance, he wasn't faring much better.

A door opened behind Trip. He turned to be met with an even stranger sight. "Damnation..." he breathed as he stared at the Thraxian. What the hell was going on here? This alien was dressed as a high-ranking Nazi: gray tunic, swastika, ribbons, tall boots - the whole works. Trip ran his fingers over his forehead but that didn't make things any clearer.

"Rav!" exclaimed Strixam, turning to greet the newcomer.

Trip half-expected a straight-armed salute but Rav merely gave a small bow and strode over.

"Strixam, Makkik..." He acknowledged each of the Thraxians. "So, these are the humans you mentioned, Makkik?"

His steady gaze was contemptuous as he looked at the humans. Trip swallowed. This one seemed decidedly unfriendly and it wasn't merely because of the uniform he had chosen.

"Please to meet you," said Trip, pushing his worries aside. "I'm Tucker, this is Mayweather."

Rav bowed. "My name is Rav. How did you get here?"

"On Thrax? Well, your friends brought us here," said Trip.

"No. Here, as in – this era. You are from the future, I have been informed."

Trip nodded. "So it seems. We don't know how it happened. We just want to get back to Earth, whatever era it is there."

Rav laughed, a rolling deep noise. "Do you?" he sneered. "Do you think that is likely?"

Trip blinked at this swift change to veiled hostility. This was not good. He glanced at Strixam and the others but found no support there. They seemed to be enjoying the show. Straightening up he said, "Your friends said it was."

Rav laughed again. "Very amusing."

"Now look," growled Trip, all pretense of good humor gone, "You got us here. You get us back!"

"Or you will do what? Nothing! There is nothing you can do!" Rav's tone was scornful. Trip stared helplessly at him. He feared the alien was right.

Strixam said calmly, "Now, we said we would return you to Earth. We will try to do that, somehow."

The others added their agreement to Strixam's conciliatory words.

"That's all we want," said Trip. If he could also find out what these aliens were up to, why they had this fascination to dress up in this fashion, that would be good too.

Makkik turned away, putting a hand to his head. "Understood." He looked at his friends. "We've had another intruder. He reached Chamber 2. This time he's from the planet's present. What should we do?"

"Incredible," said Strixam. "I don't recall that happening before. How did he get in?"

"I don't know."

"Let's see him then. We shall find out," said Strixam.

"What - here?" Makkik was surprised at the suggestion.

"Why not? One more won't make any difference. Let's give him a fright!" said Rav with enthusiasm.

Trip and Travis stood uneasily as the Thraxians started to laugh. "They're crazy," muttered Travis.

"Yeah," agreed Trip. That would explain a lot – but not help their situation.

Two Thraxians arrived dragging an uncooperative human between them - Malcolm!

Trip and Travis stared open-mouthed at their crewmate, noting his old-fashioned clothing and battered appearance. Blood blossomed across his once-white and now grimy shirt.

Malcolm kicked out at his captors, then took a moment to look around him. His gaze fell on Trip and Travis, and he ceased his struggles. His eyes widened as he registered their presence. Trip thought he was about to speak but then he closed his mouth. He lashed out again with his feet at the Thraxian on his left, adding in a couple of choice swearwords.

His escort shook him, unmoved by the kick to his shins. "Be quiet!" the Thraxian growled, digging his talons into Malcolm's upper arm. Malcolm noticeably flinched and subsided. Trip was disturbed to see fresh tracks of blood appear through his sleeve.

Rav stepped forward. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Malcolm scowled at him.

"Speak!"

"Nazi bastard," Malcolm muttered, mouth twisted into a snarl. Then he spat at the alien.

Rav instantly backhanded him. Malcolm's head snapped across, making Trip feel sick. Rav watched for the reaction, but his victim merely sagged in the guards' arms. Rav turned away with a laugh.

Makkik said to Malcolm, grabbing his hair to pull his head up, "Where did you travel from? Which portal?"

Malcolm remained defiantly silent. He glowered at the alien, ignoring his friends. Trip was calling on all his strength not to intervene. Clearly, Malcolm did not want to be associated with them for some reason that made sense to him. Trip only hoped it was worth it.

"How did you get here?" Makkik gave a shake, then allowed Malcolm's head to drop as he let go in disgust.

Trip was troubled by the harshness of Makkik's manner, his previous affability hidden. These aliens were difficult to read. He glanced around at the other Thraxians. They were all completely enthralled by this scene being played out before them.

Strixam said, "I recognize him. He was in a North American camp... designation Alpha Charlie 5. He said he was in intelligence. The commanding officer wasn't sure. I didn't take notice of much else."

"Ah, yes. Colonel Jones, wasn't it?" said Garram, drawling it in English and ostentatiously straightening his General's uniform. "I remember now. This one pretended I had sent him and his companion. I assume he is one of yours, Rav?"

Rav shook his head. "No. Not our operation. Well, not that I know. They do go off and do their own thing though."

"Yes. Part of the attraction isn't it?" Garram laughed.

Strixam said, "Let's not waste more time. I want to get back to matters which do concern us. Return him to Jones so he knows he's been captured and order Jones to execute him immediately. We don't want this spy to reveal the existence of this place - not that anyone would believe him."

Trip took a quick breath. Say something, Malcolm, he prayed. Anything...

Malcolm lifted his head and stood a little straighter but said nothing, studiously avoiding Trip's dismayed gaze.

Rav nodded. "I agree," he said, casually condemning Malcolm. He turned away to direct his attention to Trip and Travis.

The Thraxians began to drag Malcolm off.

"No," cried Trip. "Stop."

Rav put out a hand and the guards paused.

Malcolm made eye-contact with Trip. He gave the barest shake, disagreeing with Trip's intervention.

'To hell with it,' thought Trip. 'I am not going to abandon you!' "Rav," he said. "That is one of my people."

"Oh?" said Rav.

"Yeah. He's just as 'unbalancing' as the rest of us." Trip had no idea what that meant, but it seemed to be important to the aliens.

"Is this true?" asked Rav, speaking to Malcolm.

Malcolm shook his head emphatically. "I don't know what he means. Send me back."

Trip frowned. What was he playing at? He cried out, "No, Malcolm! They'll put a bullet in your head!"

"Malcolm?" inquired Garram.

"Yeah," said Trip ignoring Malcolm's murderous glare. "Malcolm Reed."

"That is his name," said Garram thoughtfully to the surrounding Thraxians. "He must be one of them."

Strixam considered Malcolm. "Well, that explains how he could get in. You know about forcefields, I take it?"

Malcolm didn't reply but the fight had now left him. He stood quietly, head bowed.

"How many more are there?" said Rav suddenly, facing Trip.

"No more," said Trip quickly.

"There's the woman. The one who was with him," said Garram. "I will order the Colonel to apprehend her and bring her here. I wonder how many others would fit in your vehicle?"

Garram moved away to make a transmission.

"I don't get it," said Trip to the aliens, swinging around on them. "What are you doing? The anthropologists I know observe - they don't go round ordering executions. Won't it invalidate your study?"

Laughter rippled through the company. Trip scowled in irritation. He had always hated being kept in the dark. "I don't understand? Why don't you explain this to me?"

The Thraxians made no move to enlighten him, which annoyed Trip even more.

Malcolm coughed. He spoke thickly, the words an effort for him. "I think I know. Wargames. Except for real. People get killed." His eyes slid over the uniformed aliens.

Rav grinned at Trip and said, "Indeed, my friend, it is a game. A most excellent game. My team operates the Reich, Garram the American Alliance and Stix the Eastern Empire. We put plays into motion, choose teams, train them, engage in battles, have the odd wager..."

Travis murmured, "A game?"

Trip was horrified - all those battlefields the shuttlepod had passed over when they first arrived. A game?! He flung an arm at Rav and said heatedly, "These are people you are 'playing' with - having your fun by killing and wounding them. People with feelings... sentient beings... humans... like us. What you are doing is totally immoral!"

"Actually, you will find morality rather depends on your point of view and your society," said Rav. He laughed. "You see, we are comparative anthropologists - of a sort."

Malcolm swore under his breath.

Trip shook his head. "That is wrong, wherever you stand!"

Makkik said, "It is a long tradition of my people to carry out war games. By that means we avoid real wars amongst us. We sublimate those urges in this way. If we did not have this outlet, it would tear our society apart again, as it did in ancient times. We have no choice. Sadly." He didn't seem to be particularly sorrowful as he grinned broadly at Trip.

Strixam added, "And it's entertaining, we mustn't forget that. I think the humans find it engrossing too."

"But by doing this, you harm others!" said Trip, aghast. "Do the humans know this is a game, that you are manipulating them?"

Makkik shook his head, "No. They don't know. That would spoil everything. But it is a two way street. We help them too."

"How?" demanded Trip angrily. He couldn't see any benefit whatsoever from this perverted practice.

Strixam replied, "We have prevented the development of atomic weapons, for one thing. As they are, this race is far too primitive to handle them responsibly. We are saving them from themselves by limiting their destructive capabilities."

"No," said Trip. "That is not true. I don't know what has happened here, but in our history, yes, atomic weapons were invented. There were dreadful battles. But through that, humanity evolved. The thirst for such destruction is diminished in us. By stopping that, you have stagnated humanity."

Rav said, "It doesn't matter what you think. We have some more centuries to play until one side wins, or we grow weary of this era and place, then we will finish it and find another world."

Trip looked helplessly at his friends. This was appalling and he had no idea how to stop it.

Garram returned. "The woman has gone. The Colonel has put out patrols for her. She will be found soon."

"We have to decide what to do with them," said Makkik.

"They are no use in the game," said Strixam to general agreement.

"There might be other games we could use them in," said Rav thoughtfully. "In fact, I know there are. I have one idea in particular that should prove most diverting. We should hold them for now."

"Let's decide later, when the woman is found. I have a tank squadron to supervise now," said Garram, losing interest in their prisoners.

"Haa, you and your tanks. Very well. Return them to the quarters we allocated them, only this time make them properly secure," said Strixam.

The humans were herded back to the room from which Trip and Travis had escaped. Malcolm's arms were freed and they were left. This time however, there was no possibility of tampering with the door circuits. The Thraxians had used an old fashioned approach - a substantial pair of bolts on the outside, inaccessible from the interior.

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: After that slight authorial wobble concerning the previous chapter, I think I'm now back on track - not necessarily a good thing for the characters!  
  
There's a small spoiler for 'Future Tense' in this chapter.

* * *

****

**Chapter 10**  
  
The bright piercing light threw everything into painful clarity. Archer struggled against the straps binding his limbs to the metal chair.  
  
"Let me go!" he demanded. He cranked his head around to glare at the two aliens standing to one side. They both wore Nazi uniforms. One was his oh-so-kind helper from before. The other - Archer hadn't seen him previously, not that he recalled anyway. The aliens didn't bother to reply. They continued their considering, and disconcerting, observation of him, with occasional inaudible comments to one another. The detached clinical approach was almost more unnerving than the hands-on affair he had suffered previously.  
  
A third alien, dressed in robes, was working on some contraption to his other side. Archer turned his head and struggled to see him better. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
This one also ignored him. He removed the bandage from Archer's head and then disappeared out of Archer's view, behind him.  
  
Archer jumped as he felt a cold metal ring drop down onto his skull, encircling his head just above eye-level. The pressure grew as it was gradually tightened to a snug fit. Archer tried to move his head but it was held fast by the framework. "What are you doing?" he said, gratified to find his voice remained firm. Even as he asked the question, he wondered if it might be better that he did not know. Nothing he could do now would change matters. He tried to fight against the acceptance. Surely his experiences so far had shown him that the most unlikely things were possible? He must not give in.  
  
The unfamiliar uniformed alien walked to stand in front of Archer. Beady red eyes glittered. He spoke in what must be his own language - a musical sound with rapid changes of pitch, quite at variance to his menacing appearance. The other alien - Archer's 'friend' - translated. "We know who you are. You are from this planet's future. We are interested in evolution."  
  
"Evolution?" gasped Archer. Why would any alien want to track the evolution of another species?  
  
The alien exposed his teeth. "Evolution and entertainment. Mostly entertainment, I confess. A diversion. Admittedly, you seem to be similar to those primitives now here but are you? Do humans of your time react in the same way?"  
  
Archer tried to build a bridge to this being. He forced a smile. "Look, let me go, and we'll talk. Find out what is going on, how I got here." After all, with Enterprise gone, what was the worse that could happen? He pushed any qualms to one side. This was not his Earth; he was convinced of that. He didn't think anything he did now would affect his own people.  
  
The alien sneered. "We are not interested in talking. Or how you got here. Our considerations lie elsewhere." He gestured to the alien behind Archer. The helper moved forward so that Archer could see what he was holding. An apparatus - all bright metal and black cables. The alien moved closer and turned it about to catch the light as if displaying a fine object d'art to a connoisseur.  
  
"What is it? What does that... do?" Archer asked, fighting to maintain his composure. His mouth had become dry.  
  
The supervisor said, "We will be carrying out the conditioning procedure - in your case, not the most comprehensive program. Do not concern yourself. We are most familiar with the procedure. It has been widely practiced on humans - although not recently. There is no need now."  
  
"Conditioning?" Archer became rigid, unable to stop looking at the device. "Why?"  
  
"It of no concern to you. Soon you will not care anyway." The alien gave a grunt of amusement. He carried on, seemingly enjoying the opportunity to act as a lecturer - savoring his subject's reactions. He waved at Archer's head. "This apparatus will attach to the head piece here. And then..."  
  
The assistant carrying the monstrous item turned a knob. Archer gazed on in sick fascination as a needle-sharp probe extended from a housing on the device. "There are six such probes which we can control. Then we deliver the fluid via these tubules." He indicated the black cabling. "Finally we show the images, when the subject is suitably... receptive." He pointed to a large curved wall display which was quiescent at present.  
  
The assistant was waved back to his position behind Archer.  
  
Archer's breathing became irregular. He tried to relax, to stay calm, but was distracted by unsettling noises. Clicks as catches were snuck home, the brushing of the alien's robes against the chair. He felt the additional weight as the apparatus was attached to the headpiece, the alien working closely around him. Then the activities stopped. The assistant moved away.  
  
Archer tested his restraints once more but it was hopeless.  
  
The supervising alien spoke again - a few terse words - but this remained untranslated.  
  
Archer tensed as he felt the coldness of sharp metal against his temple - the first probe. Then a second.  
  
In turn, each of the probes was aligned in position around his skull.  
  
"Goodbye, Archer," said the alien in front of him, in heavily accented English.  
  
The probes began to rotate, slowly at first, then swiftly building in speed. The drilling began. Archer screamed.

---------------

Trip's first reaction when they were returned to their quarters was to run his communicator over the room. "Still nothing," he muttered with a nod to Travis.  
  
Malcolm sat down on a couch, exhausted. He gingerly stretched his back muscles and shoulders to ease their cramped condition. A long gash ran the length of his left forearm. It had stopped bleeding but was already angry looking. He considered removing his shirt to examine the other injuries, but none felt serious. If he pulled the material away - he winced at that idea - it would start the bleeding again. So he put that out of his mind. It was more important that they got out of here instead of being distracted by matters that could not be changed.  
  
"Drink?" said Trip, offering him a glass of water. Up close, Malcolm didn't look too good. Trip hadn't seen any medical supplies in these quarters.  
  
"Thanks." Malcolm gulped it down in a single draught and held it out for more.  
  
"Well," said Trip, studying Malcolm from under his eyebrows as he carried out refilling duties, "That wasn't very clever was it?"  
  
"What do you mean?" said Malcolm, bristling.  
  
Trip pointed at the livid bruise already forming on his cheek. "Spitting at that alien for a start!"  
  
Malcolm ran an exploratory hand over his jaw. "Hmm. Possibly not," he conceded.  
  
Trip wiggled his eyebrows at him, wanting more.  
  
Malcolm sighed. "You're right, of course. But I got so angry, thinking about jackboots in England. I should have known better. Okay - I admit it. It was not the best move - arrant stupidity actually. I justify it by telling myself it was perfectly in character for the part." He gave a quick half smile, which mutated into a grimace as the consequences of his defiance made themselves felt. "How are you both anyway? We've had a problem keeping track of you."  
  
Trip wondered what the jackboot reference was about was all about, but he had a more serious matter to discuss with Malcolm. "What were you doing, allowing yourself to be dragged off like that?" he demanded, worry lending an edge to his words. "You could be dead now."  
  
"I need to get out of the dome so that..." started Malcolm and then clamped his mouth shut.  
  
Trip said, "Was that T'Pol they were talking about?"  
  
"Commander," said Malcolm warningly, glancing around the room.  
  
"It's okay," said Travis. "We've already checked. We don't think they are watching us."  
  
"No?" said Malcolm skeptically. "I find that hard to believe."  
  
Trip shrugged. "They don't seem to be set up for it in here. This is their own quarters. We got away before and they could easily have stopped us if they were watching."  
  
"Perhaps it's one of their games," suggested Malcolm darkly.  
  
"We are as sure as we can be - I did check again when we returned. What's our status?" said Trip. "Lieutenant?"  
  
Reluctantly, Malcolm said, "T'Pol was with me. We came to the camp to look for you when your biosigns vanished. We lost the shuttlepod signature as well. We have a means for escape..." Malcolm hesitated but at Trip's encouraging jerk of the head he carried on, albeit in a quieter voice. "To use it, we have to get outside the shielded area of the dome."  
  
Trip digested this information. So - Malcolm had some means to transport out. He saw that Travis had also understood Malcolm's cryptic comment.  
  
"What dome?" asked Trip.  
  
"The domed building in the camp. That leads to this virtual space."  
  
Trip frowned. "Back up. What 'virtual space'?"  
  
"Well, it seems appropriate terminology as it's larger on the inside than the outside, like that time ship we found, remember?"  
  
"This doesn't sound very familiar. What dome is this?"  
  
"The entrance is via a forcefield shielded building, near the detention center." Noting Trip's puzzled reaction, Malcolm asked, "Didn't they process you at the detention center?"  
  
"They zapped us with stun guns, and then we ended up here, on Thrax," said Travis.  
  
"Thrax?" Now Malcolm was confused.  
  
"That's what this planet is called," replied Trip.  
  
"Unless I am much mistaken, we are still on Earth!" said Malcolm.  
  
"What makes you say that?" Sure, thought Trip, gravity was the same, there was not much difference in atmosphere, but they had not detected anything like this place on their initial scans.  
  
"I stepped through a door and ended up here. It took a fraction of a second - not long enough to travel anywhere, even if we were using a Xindi vortex."  
  
"But you don't have any problem with places bigger on the inside than the outside? Why can't that involve travel through space too?"  
  
"It's not important." Malcolm dismissed Trip's observation. "Wherever we are, if we can make it back to the portal, we can get back to Earth immediately. Well, I think we can."  
  
"Hmm. Possibly. They said something about parameters having to be correct before we could travel."  
  
"I had no problem. But that's why I wanted to go back there - to get back to the portal and Earth, so I can get help. You shouldn't have stopped me." He made an exasperated noise.  
  
Trip couldn't believe he was hearing this. "Look, Malcolm, they were all set to kill you. Don't you think that would have cramped any escape attempt?"  
  
"There would have been time..." he started.  
  
Trip interrupted. "I bet they would have put a bullet in the back of your head the minute they got you back to Earth. You wouldn't stand a chance. It takes time to transport out." Trip swallowed, remembering Hayes.  
  
Malcolm blinked at Trip. Then he dropped his head. "You're right," he said quietly. He was thinking of Hayes as well. Shot in the middle of transporting off a Xindi ship. He slumped down. "Fine rescuer I am. I only reach you by getting caught myself."  
  
"We'll get out of this, somehow."  
  
"Umm," said Malcolm sounding pessimistic. Then he brightened a little. "I do have some items to make things go with a bang, if we can make use of them."  
  
Trip and Travis grinned at each other. They both knew what that carefully worded statement meant. "I'm sure we can," said Trip.  
  
The officers planned their next escape attempt. The bolts on the door should be easy to deal with using the remainder of Malcolm's stash of demolition materials. Trip and Travis knew how to get to the portal. They would make for that at top speed, find out how to operate it, travel via the portal to the camp, Malcolm would transport back to Enterprise when free of the forcefield and then bring the other two back.  
  
"Simple," commented Malcolm caustically after Trip had run through the steps. "And then all we have to do is figure out a way home, to our own Universe or timeline. Once we've found T'Pol." He gave an unamused laugh. It would need a miracle more like.  
  
Trip said pointedly and with some annoyance, "One step at a time, Lieutenant." What else could they do?  
  
Travis said, "We need to add another step. Find a way of getting rid of these aliens. Stop them interfering with Earth."  
  
"Absolutely," snapped Malcolm. He jumped to his feet and began pacing, becoming progressively more agitated. "What they are doing here is completely unacceptable. Distorting history for their own selfish ends - and I'm not convinced that they 'need' to do this to preserve their society - and the hurt they have inflicted on the people here. Brutalizing them, making them suffer through hundreds of years of war. For entertainment!" He stopped abruptly, glaring at his two companions, his face flushed.  
  
"Malcolm?" said Trip. He had rarely seen the normally self-contained man get so worked up.  
  
"I wish I'd had a chance to do more than spit at that Nazi bastard." The frustration was almost palpable.  
  
"I know. I feel the same about them," said Trip. After all, he had already said his piece.  
  
Malcolm stared at him, then looked away and nodded. "I realize that," he said, calmer now. He gave an embarrassed twitch. "Got a bit carried away. Sorry about that. It's just I've seen some of the results of their meddling at close hand." The people they've hurt.  
  
"It's understandable," said Trip. "Don't worry. We won't forget them." He stood up. "Right. Let's get out of here."  
  
Malcolm pulled out his explosives and worked meticulously to connect the button charges and string explosive. He had already decided on where they should be placed, having taken note of the bolts on the outside. He squatted down next to the door, ready to attach the first charge when they heard a noise outside.  
  
"Malcolm," whispered Trip urgently, moving away from the door.  
  
Hastily, Malcolm stuffed the explosives into his pockets and joined him. The three men stood together, wondering what was going to happen next. Might this give them an opportunity to escape?  
  
The door opened and Rav entered, holding a weapon in his right hand, several other armed aliens at his back. "Move away," he ordered.  
  
The humans complied, edging back to the rear of the room.  
  
Rav said, eyes glittering, "I said we had another game for you. This gentleman here," he indicated one of his companions, "is carrying a recording device. It also allows us to provide a live broadcast. No reason for our fun to be limited to present company, is there?"  
  
Rav studied the silent, watchful humans. He gave a broad grin. Without taking his eyes off them he called over his shoulder, "Enter."  
  
Behind him, another gray-clad figure entered. But this was no Thraxian. This was a human.  
  
Captain Jonathan Archer - resplendent in Nazi uniform, his face marred by an ugly burn down one side.  
  
Trip swore. He almost collapsed as his knees became weak. He choked out. "No... It can't be..."  
  
Besides him, Travis and Malcolm were equally shocked. Malcolm's mouth had dropped open and he had turned sheet white. Travis found he couldn't breathe properly. He shook his head rapidly.  
  
Rav watched with delight, relishing their stunned reactions. Eventually, he said, "Let me introduce my interloper, "This is Captain Archer. Also from the future."  
  
Archer stood expressionless, unmoving, and seemingly unaware of anyone or anything.  
  
Trip shook his head, tried to still his trembling. "No! You're dead. It can't be..."  
  
"Remember," said Travis under his breath, his dry throat causing the words to come out in a rasp. "T'Pol said this could be a parallel universe. It might not be our Captain Archer."  
  
"Yeah," replied Trip, unable to tear his eyes from a face he thought he would never see again. "Captain? Jon?"  
  
Archer, or his facsimile, slowly turned to look at Trip. His eyes were cold, blank - unrecognizing and unrecognizable.  
  
"Is it you, Jon? Captain Archer?" Trip said, willing it to be true. But how could it be?  
  
"Do you know these people, Captain?" asked Rav.  
  
Archer shook his head once. Rav laughed. "It seems he doesn't know you. How sad!"  
  
"Care for some more?" asked Rav of the assembly. The Thraxians responded favorably.  
  
Rav grinned. "I thought so." He raised his weapon and aimed it at a large metal block pushed to one side against a wall. Rav pressed the trigger. A green energy beam spat from the muzzle, blindingly bright, and melted the block into a shapeless, lump which gave off a choking vapor.  
  
Trip didn't know what the block had done but whatever it was, it sure wasn't going to do it again.  
  
"Now, Captain," said Rav, handing the gun to Archer. "Let's try an experiment. What does this do to those humans over there."  
  
Archer took the weapon without looking at it and held it firmly, testing its weight. He raised it, swinging the muzzle to point at Trip's chest. Travis and Malcolm standing next to him looked on in horror.  
  
"Pull the trigger," said Rav in a smooth voice. "Go on," he encouraged. "For the Fatherland."  
  
Archer straightened his shoulders, his burnt face showing no emotion.  
  
Trip cried out, "No! Captain! Jon! It's me - Trip, and Travis. Malcolm. Captain! Don't do this. Don't let them!"  
  
Archer spoke, a grating voice, devoid of expression. "It is my duty. For the Fatherland."  
  
"No!" called out Trip, one last desperate cry. "Stop!"  
  
It was no good. Trip stared transfixed at the muzzle, unwaveringly waiting to spit its deadly charge at him. Archer's fingers tightened on the trigger and he squeezed it, depressing it fully.

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Wow! What reviews. Thank you, everyone. I think I've discovered the power of a cliffhanger! If you're thinking 'What cliffhanger?' you may have missed Chapter 10 which I posted very soon after Chapter 9.

I hope this is worth waiting for but constructive criticism welcomed, as always.

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****

**Chapter 11**  
  
It's true - time does slow down at a moment of crisis - the moment of death.  
  
For Trip, each breath lasted an eon, an instant expanded exponentially. He was startlingly aware of every feel, every nuance of the scene, vibrantly and indelibly etched. All senses intense, untrammeled. Focussed to incredible brilliance. A thing of wonder if not for its source.  
  
Archer's fingers were poised over the trigger. They began to move, frame by frame - a constant and relentless progression toward mortality. Playing like a movie in slow motion.  
  
Trip's rapt perception embraced movie, the obscene eagerness of the aliens, the ice cold Rav, his own friends' disbelief and impotent anger. And Archer's unnatural isolation. The entire universe.  
  
The prickle of sweat along Trip's forehead collected carelessly into tidy beads, combining into rivulets.  
  
Trip searched deep into his friend's lost eyes - seeking for even a spark of his consciousness. But he found only unknowingness, innocent yet treacherous. He parted his lips for one last plea, then closed them. He was ready, as ready as one ever might be to be shattered into one's molecules. It would be quick, at least.  
  
Trip stood with a final acceptance as Archer depressed the trigger. This was it. The end. The irony of it being at Jon's hand.  
  
The trigger clicked. But nothing. Nothing happened.  
  
Trip took a shallow breath, forcing it in through constricted airways. A short respite. The gun had broken. He wasn't dead... not yet.  
  
Archer looked down at his gun in puzzlement as if he had never seen such an object before. He lifted his gaze to his mentor.  
  
"Don't worry," said Rav with a laugh, breaking the spell - breaking Trip's timeless enchantment. "You did a fine job, Captain. Your only problem is that you are not a Thraxian. These weapons are genetically coded." He held out his hand. Archer handed the gun back to Rav without a word.  
  
Trip held himself rigid as Rav hefted the gun and studied him. Genetically coded? Rav would do it instead?  
  
Rav smiled at Trip. "That worked better than I had hoped. It was a useful test. You can relax - for now."  
  
Relief washed over Trip at his escape, gratitude at being spared his life, then fury at that false emotion. Gratitude for his life? He had to fight to his utmost to keep the rage contained within him, its only outlet a tremor of his body. Silence was his only option. He couldn't trust himself to speak.  
  
Rav gave his fellows a smug bow, accepting their plaudits on the drama.  
  
Malcolm took an audible breath, released from the thrall of shock. He saw Trip's unsteadiness. Not surprising after a mock-execution. His contempt for these aliens grew, if that was possible. And to dress Archer as a Nazi with all those connotations - that added to the wickedness. He stared at Rav in distaste. "Why have him in that uniform?"  
  
Rav appraised Archer, now staring blankly ahead. "He is mine now. It is appropriate."  
  
Before Malcolm could respond, Trip laid a light hand on his arm to check him. There was nothing to gain and perhaps all to be lost if tempers rose.  
  
"Is that really our Archer?" rasped Trip, finding his voice again.  
  
"I believe so," said Rav in an offhand manner. "He had a uniform similar to yours when he was found. He told me he was from the future."  
  
"What did you do to him?" asked Trip. He didn't know what was worse. To lose Archer completely, or to find him alive but in this distorted state, a warped and empty figure.  
  
"Oh. Some experimenting. Humans are very susceptible you know. It was interesting to see if that changes in the future. Apparently it doesn't. The conditioning procedure was widely used once. Some subjects were more resilient than others. Apparently it was quite random as to which survived and which... didn't." Rav considered Archer - his specimen. "I have no idea which Archer will prove to be. Time will tell."  
  
"What will you do next, Rav?" asked one of his followers.  
  
Rav extended a talon. "I had considered a pageant in the rally next week before an appreciative audience. The gallant and loyal Captain Archer dispatching three enemies of the Reich." The talon swept an arc in the air to indicate Trip, Travis and Malcolm. "But then, that would be perhaps unsatisfying - too quick, and then what?"  
  
"We could draft them all into the armies, after suitable conditioning?" put in another alien.  
  
Rav sniffed. "Yes, but that lacks any additional excitement - no different from our usual fare. But I do have another idea. Perhaps we condition just another one of these three? We set them against each other - Archer and the other conditioned subject against the remaining two. That would be most diverting. Two intent on killing, the other two... well, what would they do? There is a deserted village we use for training in house to house combat - ideal for our purposes."  
  
Trip, Malcolm and Travis exchanged alarmed looks at these appalling prospects, each suggestion worse than the last. They had to escape from these madmen - and soon. "Excellent notion, Rav!" exclaimed a Thraxian, slapping him on the back. "Let me know who you select as the second in your team and I will make a wager with you. I think you will find widespread interest in that scenario!"  
  
Rav shrugged modestly. "Thank you. I may have other ideas, even more diverting. Let me consider further before we get too far." He rocked back on his heels and swung around to include all his prisoners in his next comments. "I'm sure you want to talk about our plans. We'll leave the good Captain with you so you can catch up but we'll be back. We've got some interesting things lined up for you, whatever is decided."  
  
The Thraxians left with much animated discussion amongst themselves. The men watched them file through the door. Rav was the final one - a triumphant smirk plain in his face. The meeting had gone well as far as he was concerned, it would seem.  
  
They heard the bolts being thrown home to secure the door. Travis stepped over and listened. "I think they've gone, " he said in relief.  
  
"Damnation," muttered Trip, drawing a hand through his hair. "They are crazy. Crazy, terrifying bastards." He slumped back against a wall, head tipped up and eyes closed. The reaction was starting to set in now Rav had gone. He found he was shaking.  
  
Malcolm peered at him and said worriedly, "Trip - are you alright?" As soon as it was out of his mouth, he berated himself. What a ridiculous comment to make to someone who had been certain he would die at his own friend's hand. Why could he never get it right? He unconsciously massaged his neck as he considered Trip's ordeal.  
  
Trip looked at him and straightened up. "I think so. God, Malcolm. I thought I was going to die then - for sure. I thought it was the end." He rubbed his arm over his sweaty brow.  
  
Malcolm was sympathetic but they didn't have time now for the luxury of analysis. He thought back to Rav's plans for them. What would be worse? Being a murdering zombie or having to deal with his friends transformed into such monsters? He snorted in disgust. What a choice! It was imperative they escaped. He said, "We have to get out of here, and soon, unless we want to be intimately involved in raising Rav's popularity index."  
  
Trip grunted in agreement, trying to quell his anxieties. He had responsibilities. One in particular. "The Captain?"  
  
The three friends looked at their Captain. Archer stood expressionless in the center of the room. He was very pale and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. He wavered a little, unsteady on his feet.  
  
"Will we have to carry him?" said Travis.  
  
"Possibly," said Trip, frowning as he studied Archer. Perhaps they could bring him out of this state. Rav's parting words had implied that they would be able to talk to him. He had to try. He took a slow step toward Archer, alert for any reaction.  
  
"Jon," said Trip.  
  
"Careful, Commander," warned Malcolm. "He isn't in his right mind."  
  
"I know," said Trip softly, not taking his attention from Archer. "Captain. Captain Archer - Jon. It's Trip. Can you hear me?"  
  
Trip was afraid that this would turn out to be some huge hoax - yet another game. Perhaps this was not the Captain but a hologram? He reached out a hesitant hand and laid it gently on Archer's arm. It was reassuringly solid. But then, he had come across exceedingly realistic holograms in the past. No - this had to be him. The Thraxians wouldn't know about Archer, would they?  
  
Archer remained oblivious. His eyes were wide open but unseeing.  
  
Malcolm was poised beside them, watching intently. Not even the barest twitch of recognition. He shook his head in disappointment, "It's no use, he's..."  
  
Archer gasped, as if coming up for air from a deep underwater dive. "No!" he yelled. "Stop!" He grabbed at his head, moaning, eyes screwed tightly shut. His body twisted in agony.  
  
"You're safe, Captain, Jon. It's okay!" shouted Trip. He wrapped his arms around Archer, trying to quieten him. He needed to get him to subside. Then perhaps he could get him to listen to what he was saying.  
  
Archer gave a huge heave to free himself. He opened his eyes wide, fixated on Malcolm. With a wild scream he jumped at his armory officer, who swore and back peddled. He wasn't quick enough and Archer landed a good blow to his jaw that sent him sprawling.  
  
"Jon!" exclaimed Trip.  
  
Archer whipped around to him. He growled incoherently and swung a quick one-two. Trip avoided the first blow but the second caught him across his nose.  
  
Travis leapt on Archer from behind, grabbing his arms and Malcolm threw himself headfirst at Archer's legs. The two officers together used their combined weight to topple him to the ground. He lay face down with Travis and Malcolm sitting on him, riding his violent thrashing.  
  
"Careful!" shouted Trip. "We don't want to hurt him!" Ignoring the trickle of blood running from his nose, Trip crouched low on the floor by Archer's head, turning about so as to see his face the right way up. "Captain. Jon. Listen to me. It's Trip. Enterprise is here. You're safe." He winced at his last statement. He hoped it was true, or would be soon.  
  
Archer stilled his physical exertions - somewhere his consciousness apparently he knew it was futile - but his eyes still had a wild aspect to them. Trip didn't like the way they rolled feverishly.  
  
"Please, Jon." Trip felt powerless. What could he do? "Captain. Remember Enterprise... your ship. Your crew. Me."  
  
"It's no good," gasped Malcolm, still catching his breath. "We should restrain him so..."  
  
"No," said Trip firmly. "I'm not giving up yet." His attention hadn't wavered from Archer. "Captain, do you remember our mission to the Expanse. The Xindi. You destroyed their weapon. Enterprise destroyed the spheres. The Expanse has gone!" His eyes begged Archer to remember, to return to his senses.  
  
Archer frowned. "Xindi?" he muttered.  
  
Trip barely heard his quiet voice but it gave him hope. He smiled encouragingly at his Captain and friend. "Yes. Xindi - the Expanse. You destroyed the Xindi weapon. Do you remember?"  
  
The answer took a while to come, and then only faintly, but it was enough for Trip. Archer's eyes were calmer, a semblance of reason had returned. He said quietly, "Yes. The weapon. It exploded. I told everyone to leave and then... then there was a Reptilian, and we fought. And then it exploded." His brow drew together in concentration as he considered the figure before him. "Trip? It's you?"  
  
Trip grinned broadly. "Yeah, Captain. It's me!"  
  
Archer blinked. He tried to sit up but his body wouldn't co-operate. "There's something the matter. I can't move."  
  
"Okay, fellas. Let him up," said Trip, hardly daring to let his great joy at Archer's true return impinge on him. He was still grinning.  
  
Travis began to get off Archer.  
  
Malcolm was less willing. "Wait, Travis. Commander, don't you think we should be careful about this? Secure him first?"  
  
Archer tried to twist around. "Malcolm? Is that you?"  
Malcolm sat a touch more firmly. He was determined not to be decanted before he consented to let Archer up.  
  
Trip said sharply, "Let him up. That's an order."  
  
Malcolm looked skeptically at Trip. Trip sighed. "Malcolm. There are three of us, and the Captain isn't at his best. I'm sure we can manage. Now get off him!"  
  
Malcolm and Travis rolled off Archer, who turned onto his side, breathing deeply. Malcolm got to his feet and moved away a few paces while the others stayed on the ground. The enormity of what had happened was now growing in them all. Their Captain returned from the dead.  
  
Archer pointed to Trip's face and said, "Did I do that? It's all a little hazy."  
  
Trip wiped the back of his hand over his face and looked at the blood. He shook his head. "It's nothing. Don't worry. We thought you were dead, Captain."  
  
"I... I don't know what I thought," said Archer. He couldn't concentrate. "I don't know what happened." He looked at Travis, grinning wildly next to him, and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. "Travis."  
  
"Welcome back, Sir," said Travis. "We've missed you."  
  
Archer smiled at him then looked up at Malcolm, taking in his tattered appearance, the fresh red mark on his jaw below a dark bruise. "I hit you too, didn't I? I'm sorry."  
  
Malcolm shrugged and folded his arms. "I should've been quicker. How did you get off the Xindi weapon?" There was a suspicious edge to his voice.  
  
Trip picked up on it immediately. "Malcolm!" he admonished.  
  
"No, it's okay, Trip." Archer grimaced. He tried to place his memories in some sort of order. He ran a finger along his mouth as he fought back to the fragments belonging to the attack on the weapon. He was conscious of Trip's concern and Malcolm's sharp attention. He shrugged. "I can't account for it. I saw Daniels before we transported to the weapon. He might have had a hand in it."  
  
"Daniels? You didn't say anything about that at the time," said Malcolm accusingly.  
  
"There was no point. He wanted me to stay behind. There was no way I was going to do that. But I think that might be why we traveled back in time."  
  
Travis said, "We haven't. This is the correct year, just not the right... Universe."  
  
Archer felt faint. He brushed a hand over his temples, wincing at tender spots. "I don't follow."  
  
"Neither do we," said Trip. "T'Pol's working on a theory."  
  
"T'Pol as well? Is everyone here?"  
  
Trip nodded. "Yeah. Enterprise and the team - the survivors - that infiltrated the weapon. Did you hear what I said before? We destroyed sphere 41. The Expanse has gone. We succeeded."  
  
Archer closed his eyes and gulped. "Thank God," he said in relief. He wasn't feeling well. A lassitude was overtaking him accompanied by nausea. A building pain in his head. He gazed around at his crewmates. "I thought I would never see any of you again. But... I mentioned Enterprise. They know about her!" He remembered an alien, the questioning, his answers.  
  
"What did you tell them, Captain?" asked Malcolm, alarm growing.  
  
Archer ran his thumb over his eyebrow. "I said she was a spaceship, warp capable. It's difficult to recall much. I was drugged I think... I know. It's hazy."  
  
"Did you say where she was?"  
  
"In the Expanse, in the future. Unobtainable." Archer looked at his armory officer with a shred of hope. "Perhaps they believed me?"  
  
"Let's hope so," said Malcolm quietly.  
  
Trip watched Archer with concern. "What did they do to you?" Archer was pale and growing paler.  
  
That simple question triggered horrific memories. Vibration; dreadful, unendurable pain. He groaned. "Uhh. Some kind of brain washing. They... they fed chemicals into my brain. Drilled into my skull... It hurt." That was an understatement. He touched the sore place on his left temple as remembered the rest of it.  
  
"Drilled..." gasped Trip, clutching at his knee. He could see the mark, could now make out it was a neat hole... Saw another one. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.  
  
"Barbarians," ground out Malcolm, paling as his imagination went to work. "Their conditioning process, eh?"  
  
"We have to get out now," said Travis.  
  
"Agreed," said Malcolm meeting his fearful eyes.  
  
Archer rubbed his hands over his face, avoiding the burn, then stopped. Her blinked at the gray sleeve, then slowly followed his arm down to look at the tunic he was wearing. "My God...What is this? What have you done?" He gazed in accusation at Trip, then the other two. "Answer me, damnit!"  
  
Trip said, "It wasn't us. It was the aliens. Don't you remember? Rav? What he made you do?"  
  
Archer's face changed from animated concern to hard stillness. Then he looked up, snarled and launched himself in a frenzy of blows at Travis.  
  
"No!" shouted Trip, leaping to Travis' defense as Malcolm joined the fray. They swiftly managed to pin the Captain down again, this time on his back. He had weakened and couldn't muster much of a defense.  
  
"Dogs!" shouted Archer, "Traitors to the Reich!"  
  
"No!" yelled Trip. "Please..."  
  
Archer's strength left him and he stopped struggling after a few seconds. He sighed as he relaxed back exhausted.  
  
"Captain, please don't do this," begged Trip. "Remember what happened, remember Enterprise." He looked pleadingly at Malcolm. How many times would they need to go through this?  
  
Malcolm grimaced. "It was triggered when he saw the uniform. We need to take his jacket off."  
  
"Trip..." Archer spoke softly. He turned his head toward him. "What's happening?"  
  
Trip bit his lip. The Captain was back with them. It seemed his weakened state couldn't support the altered personality for very long. "I don't know, Captain. You aren't well."  
  
Archer felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as he saw, in his mind's eye, Trip standing before him and noted the gun in his own hand. He knew its purpose. An illusion or real, that memory? "What did I do? Trip! I was going to kill you." He wanted Trip to deny it. Trip didn't. He bowed his head and put out a comforting hand, holding Archer's shoulder.  
  
Archer shook his head, slowly because it was so painful. "I did, didn't I? Oh, Trip." The world shattered around him as the surroundings rushed dizzyingly past. He felt the nausea take hold.  
  
"Quick!" said Travis, seeing the signs.  
  
Travis and Trip got Archer to his feet and into the bathroom where he threw up.  
  
Trip saw streaks of blood in the vomit. Archer's forehead was burning hot and his pulse erratic. Trip gently guided Archer to a chair in the main room and helped him with a glass of water, supporting him with his arm around his shoulders.  
  
"How is he, Commander?" asked Malcolm, squinting at Archer and noting his drooping lids.  
  
Trip scrunched his face up. "Not good. He appears to know who he is still but he's... spaced out... not quite with it. We have to get him medical attention."  
  
"Let's get that tunic off him," said Malcolm. "We can't let him see it again and he certainly can't walk through the camp dressed like that."  
  
"Uhh, yeah," said Trip, dragging his mind back to their escape plan.  
  
Between them but with little help from Archer, they removed the gray uniform tunic with its hateful swastika and unbuttoned the collar of the undershirt.  
  
"Shame we haven't got a change of pants," said Trip, looking around as if expecting some to miraculously materialize. "Look, Malcolm. We can't tie him up. I know he's unpredictable..."  
  
"It's okay. He's in no fit state to try anything now. In any case, he'll be easier to manage like that."  
  
Trip nodded gratefully.  
  
Malcolm said briskly, "Let's get out of here before the Thraxians return for more 'entertainment'. And the sooner we get back to the ship, the sooner Phlox can see the Captain."  
  
Archer grabbed Trip's arm, "I... stay here. Can't go. Slow you down."  
  
"Uh huh, no way, Captain. You are coming with us. That's non-negotiable." Trip levered Archer's fingers off him. "Come on, Lieutenant. Let's use your expertise."  
  
"Understood," acknowledged Malcolm with a broad grin. "One jailbreak coming up."  
  
-----------------------------

The plan went remarkably smoothly - at least it started like that. Malcolm's explosives made short work of the door. They made their way along gallery and via the elevator to the ground floor, taking turns to support Archer between them. He could barely stand but did what he could to assist them as they made their best speed. The moving walkway made it possible to make progress and they soon arrived unchallenged at the portal room.  
  
"This seems too easy," grunted Malcolm as he scouted ahead to the portal.  
  
"Don't speak too soon, Lieutenant," commented Trip as he labored under Archer's weight. Travis grinned at the remark. He was bearing Archer's other arm over his shoulder. They followed Malcolm into the room.  
  
"How do we know which code to use?" said Malcolm in agitation as he studied the control panel.  
  
"It doesn't matter," shouted Trip. "As long as it's on Earth."  
  
"It has to be in the correct hemisphere though, otherwise Enterprise won't pick up the emergency beacon's signal," warned Travis.  
  
Trip joined Malcolm, leaving Travis to hold on to Archer.  
  
"Come on, come on," Malcolm muttered under his breath as he tried to make sense of the display and its alien script. "We need Hoshi!" he said in exasperation.  
  
"Perhaps not!" exclaimed Trip. "It must be easy to use. It isn't supposed to be used by outsiders. Why make it secure? Look... this indicator is divided into three. The three warring factions, right? Red, black, blue. Red in the East, black for the Nazis, blue for America."  
  
Malcolm made a doubting noise.  
  
"We can try," said Trip, touching the blue bar. They both sighed in relief as the display changed into a representation of North and South America, with side panels representing other places presumably under American influence. Trip stabbed a finger at the center of North America. The map zoomed in. He gave a confident grin and homed-in in a few steps to the base they had landed near.  
  
A winking red dot showed the location of the portal. "Good enough!" said Trip. He touched the dot and it changed to green. "Everyone through," said Trip. "We don't know how long it will remain open for."  
  
They stepped through the blue shimmering screen and into the room Malcolm had departed from.  
  
"This seems right," said Malcolm. "This way."  
  
They entered the lobby area after Malcolm had confirmed it was clear and ran to the entrance door. Malcolm opened it a little. "Clear," he confirmed. "No! Wait!"  
  
They waited impatiently, Archer sagging on Trip and Travis' shoulders while Malcolm watched a soldier pass outside.  
  
Noises came from the room they had left.  
  
"We've gotta go now!" said Trip.  
  
Malcolm nodded, "Clear now," he called as he opened the door. They ran to the forcefield barrier. To Malcolm's horror he could see no switch to disable the field. "How do we get out?" he said hunting around.  
  
"It could be on auto, after all, they want to stop people getting in. They're not worried about those leaving," said Trip. He led the way forward to test his hypothesis. A gleaming rectangle appeared in the air before them. Without delay, they passed through and into the compound. Shouts floated across to them from the domed building. The aliens were on their heels.  
  
Malcolm promised, "I'll transport you back as soon as I get on board," and gave a sharp triple rap with his right heel as he looked in concern at the gaining aliens.  
  
He dissolved in a shimmer while his crewmates gazed on.  
  
"Hurry up, Malcolm," said Travis as they waited.

* * *

TBC 


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1  
  
A/N: Thank you for the continuing encouragement. I do appreciate the time taken to add a review. So, from now on, it's all plain sailing for our heroes, isn't it? It is, isn't it? Silly question.

* * *

****

**Chapter 12  
**  
Ensign Walsh heard the insistent scream of the emergency signal and bounded over to the transporter control panel. It was already set to lock onto the beacon's co-ordinates so all he had to do was press the activate button. Even if he had not been there, it would have operated automatically, but this gained a second or so.  
  
An expected figure began to resolve on the transporter pad.  
  
Walsh commed T'Pol. "Transporter to T'Pol. We have an emergency transport signal."  
  
"I'll be there directly," came T'Pol's measured response.  
  
Malcolm's form solidified. "Quick! Lock onto the three lifesigns at my last position and transport them immediately!" ordered Malcolm, already halfway to the control panel himself.  
  
Walsh rapidly pulled up the relevant menu, then stopped.  
  
"What's the matter, man?" said Malcolm. "Do it!"  
  
"They've gone, Sir," said Walsh shaking his head, his fingers skipping over the panel in an attempt to regain the signals.  
  
"What?!" said Malcolm, pushing him away to check for himself. But Walsh was right. There were no biosigns. Malcolm's shoulders slumped. "Damn," he said quietly and with frustration. "The aliens must be shielding them."  
  
"Aliens, Sir?" said Walsh, mystified.  
  
Malcolm ignored him. If he couldn't transport them up, he would go back to get them, guide them away from the blocked zone. He skimmed the display. The shielded area was circular - clearly evident through the absence of transporter co-ordinates. It was impossible to detect any biosigns and he couldn't transport through it without proper co-ordinates.  
  
He rapidly moved the target point down so it lay close to the outer boundary. The circular area was not large. It would encompass three human biosigns and no doubt several aliens by now, but there wasn't room for much else. He'd still be close when he transported down.  
  
"Send me back, these co-ordinates. Hurry up." Malcolm sprinted over to the transporter pad, then changed his mind as he realized what he would encounter when he returned to the surface. Those aliens had been damned close. "I'll be back right away," he said. "Make sure the target point stays just outside the shielded zone, even if the zone moves."  
  
He left the transporter bay at a dead run, desperately hoping he was making the correct choice. Malcolm had never been more thankful that the transporter bay and Armory were so close to each other. He dashed into the Armory, disregarding the startled crew, and made for the weapon racks.  
  
"Sir..." started a crewman.  
  
"Get me microcharges, the M221's... six of them. Two of the M521's. Move!" said Malcolm, not slacking his pace or looking at the man. He pulled out two phase pistols and jammed them in his belt, not bothering to check their status. Then he grabbed a phase rifle and slung it over his shoulder.  
  
Malcolm caught sight of two MACOs, McKenzie and Woods, who were witnessing this display of weapons hoarding by the bruised and bloodied Englishman. "You're with me," he barked, jerking his head at them. "Get your rifles, quickly!"  
  
The crewman arrived with the microcharges. Malcolm cradled them in his arms, cursing his lack of pockets. One of his men saw his difficulty. "I think there's a bag somewhere, Sir," he said.  
  
"No time," gasped Malcolm as he shot out of the Armory like a whirlwind leaving a bewildered team behind. The two MACOs pounded dutifully after him, pushing to keep up.  
  
Malcolm rushed into the transporter bay, barely registering that T'Pol had arrived and was talking to Walsh.  
  
Malcolm made straight for the pad followed by the MACOs. "Energize," he called, juggling the charges into the crook of his left arm and hunching his shoulder up to stop the rifle strap slipping down. He drew a phase pistol. Woods and McKenzie traded quizzical glances, and then readied their weapons also.  
  
"No, Ensign," said T'Pol, turning slightly to the young man at the controls.  
  
Malcolm stared at her in disbelief. "T'Pol! I've got to go back now. The aliens were after them - Trip, Travis and the Captain. I have to get them."  
  
T'Pol gasped. "The Captain?" she said, her eyes widening in shock. "Captain Archer?" Not even she could suppress the emotion that brief comment provoked.  
  
The MACOs and Walsh gazed at Malcolm, mesmerized as his words struck home.  
  
Malcolm had no time for their reactions to his news. "Yes. He's there too. The aliens will capture them. Please, T'Pol..."  
  
T'Pol broke into his frantic appeal. "No, Lieutenant! I need to know what is going on. I need your report."  
  
Malcolm rapped out in his best command tone, "When I get back. Ensign, energize. That's an order!"  
  
"Belay that!" said T'Pol raising her voice. The hapless Walsh blinked and dropped his hands by his side, looking at Malcolm in apprehension.  
  
Malcolm yelled at T'Pol, his frustration boiling over, "You don't understand. The aliens were right on top of them. I said I would bring them straight back."  
  
T'Pol inclined her head. She replied calmly, an antidote to his fervor, "Indeed? However, judging by the position of the sensor screen they have generated, these aliens, whoever they are, have almost certainly captured them."  
  
"Probably," admitted Malcolm, speaking more quietly and slightly ashamed at his loss of control. "They were awfully close when I transported out."  
  
"Did they see you transport?"  
  
"Yes, I expect so. Yes, they did." The Thraxians couldn't have missed it. He glowered at T'Pol with resentment at this enforced delay, fairly vibrating with repressed energy.  
  
T'Pol said evenly in an understanding manner, "Lieutenant, the aliens will be waiting for you to return there or nearby. They may capture you, or kill you before you have completed the transport process. Undoubtedly our officers will now be guarded to frustrate any rescue attempt, or possibly used as hostages. We need another plan. A rescue plan."  
  
Malcolm stared at her, then sagged. He suddenly felt extremely weary. She was right. He couldn't argue with her logic. This was more than a simple transport out. Now they had to factor in the Thraxians. And if the rescuers were to transport to another location - and they must because his transport-out point was insecure - it required some consideration. Greater manpower too.  
  
Disconsolately he rammed his phase pistol back in his belt. He had been wrong. He should have returned to the surface immediately and forgotten all about weapons. His ill-judgment - his stupidity, more like - might get his friends killed.  
  
He met T'Pol's steady appraisal. He replied in resignation, "You're correct, T'Pol. But we must act quickly."  
  
"I agree," said T'Pol. "It is also vital that you tell me what is happening on the surface."  
  
Malcolm nodded. "I understand. There's a lot more going on than we even suspected. You have to know about it." He ran a tired hand over his forehead. "Uhh, Walsh. Has there been any change at all in that shielded region? It's size or location?"  
  
"No, Sir," said Walsh crisply, projecting perfect obedience.  
  
Malcolm fiddled with the microcharges and sighed heavily. There was no point in waiting here. He could trust Walsh to do that for him at least. "Very well. Keep monitoring it. Contact me at once if it changes in any way. Record the readings."  
  
"Yes, Sir," acknowledged Walsh.  
  
T'Pol turned to McKenzie. "While I debrief Lieutenant Reed, I want you to put a team together."  
  
Malcolm added, "Maximum strength, full assault gear, Corporal."  
  
"Yes, Ma'am, Sir," replied McKenzie, turning to go.  
  
"Hold on a minute," said Malcolm, stepping over to her. "Take these." He dumped the microcharges into McKenzie's arms. "Find a bag for them."  
  
She grinned at him, "Will do."  
  
"We will go to the Command Center," said T'Pol to Malcolm, leading the way.  
  
Malcolm nodded, too tired now to say much and miserable as hell. He pulled his rifle strap up and hoped to God Trip and the others were all right.  
  
--------  
  
In the bright daylight, the three men stood waiting for Enterprise to transport them to safety. Trip lifted the shoulder that was taking the weight of Archer's right side to make him more secure. Travis had the other side of their Captain. Both were staring at the domed building and the aliens streaming out, many of them armed and all too close. Archer was barely conscious and oblivious to their predicament.  
  
"He's too slow," muttered Travis, risking a glance skywards as if he could see their ship above them. "What's the matter?"  
  
"We'll be transported soon," said Trip with more confidence than he felt. Something had gone wrong. Malcolm should have acquired their biosigns by now. He felt the cold clamminess of Archer's hand. A glance at his face confirmed he was steadily deteriorating. "C'mon, Malcolm," Trip muttered as he watched the aliens drew near.  
  
Trip counted ten Thraxians, six of them carrying weapons in keeping with the World War 2 era. What was the range of those weapons the Thraxians were brandishing? Sufficient to hit them? The aliens were all wearing American uniforms, 'so as not to frighten the natives,' Trip thought acerbically. Not surprisingly, Rav was not included in the party.  
  
The aliens were rapidly approaching, rolling with each pace in an ungainly motion.  
  
"We better run for it," said Travis, but without conviction. He stood his ground. Trip took a quick look around trying to figure out the layout of the camp but the aliens were far too close to make escape feasible. But more importantly neither man could abandon Archer. They had already thought him lost once - more than once - and couldn't bear to leave him.  
  
So they waited as the Thraxians closed the short distance. Trip felt sick at the thought of being at their mercy once more but there was no alternative.  
  
"Your friend has abandoned you," gloated Garram as he reached them, his fellows spreading out to encircle the humans. "How sad. Running to save his own skin."  
  
Trip and Travis didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply. Archer lifted his head at the new arrival's voice and frowned at him.  
  
Garram said, "You have matter transport capability. Interesting. We outgrew such primitive technology many hundreds of years ago. Now where did your comrade go? Are you inclined to tell me? - No? I didn't think so."  
  
Now Trip was worried that they would be transported back to Enterprise - far too dangerous a proposition now. He wouldn't put it past the aliens to fire at them if they thought them to be getting away from their clutches. But Malcolm wouldn't do that when they were surrounded by alien biosigns, would he? Then Trip remembered how he had been unable to detect the aliens on his scanner when they were captured initially, and Malcolm had said the lifesigns were screened. Trip swore. That was why they were still here. He said, for Travis' benefit, "You're shielding our biosigns again, aren't you?"  
  
Garram smiled. "I thought that was obvious. "  
  
A gaggle of soldiers from the base ran over from various directions, significantly more interested in the humans than the Thraxians.  
  
A colonel stepped forward and saluted Garram. "General Barrington," said the colonel.  
  
Garram returned the salute. "Colonel Jones. Did you apprehend the woman?"  
  
"No, Sir. I'm sorry. We are still searching."  
  
"Good. Continue with that. Be aware that Reed may have joined her."  
  
"Reed?"  
  
"The spy you let escape, Colonel." Garram's tone was stern.  
  
"Yes, Sir," said Jones uncomfortably.  
  
"Keep watch on these men while I consult with my senior staff," said Garram, moving away with a curt gesture to several of the Thraxians to go with him.  
  
Trip watched them and wondered what they were up to. There was considerable discussion amongst the aliens with frequent looks toward their prisoners. He shivered. What did they have in store for them?  
  
Garram returned. "Colonel - please pull your men back. I want to talk to these prisoners in private."  
  
"Sir," said Jones, obeying.  
  
Garram waited until they were out of earshot, then he said, "We have been debating what to do with you. As it seems you spurn our hospitality, we have decided to keep you somewhere more secure. It will be considerably less pleasant but this is of your own making."  
  
He held his hand out. "Tucker, give me your translator device. You will not require it any longer."  
  
Trip scowled. He dug out his communicator and handed it over with ill grace. It was useless anyway as a communicator since he had carried out his modifications on it.  
  
Garram looked at them with hard eyes. "Your friend, should he have the courage to return, will not find it easy to reach you. We will make sure matter transport is not possible."  
  
A Thraxian carrying a two handled metal case emerged from the domed building. "Give that to the Colonel," said Garram. "Colonel, attach that to a power supply and keep it switched on."  
  
"Yes, Sir. What is it?"  
  
"A security device."  
  
Garram returned his attention to the prisoners. He came close to Trip and Travis, and whispered so no one else could hear, "We have decided to leave you in the tender hands of the Colonel and his 'experts'. You'll be pleased to know we have the Interrogation Room fully covered. We will be watching every move they make. It should prove most entertaining. Possibly we might retrieve you before the end comes - I know Rav would prefer that - but then, maybe we won't..."  
  
Garram stepped away and said in a louder voice to Colonel Jones. "Colonel, I am debating what to do with these men. I believe them to be spying for the Reich. This one," he pointed to Archer, "Is a Nazi officer. Find out what they know, who they are, who they are working for, where their companion is... any intelligence is useful. Do whatever it takes. This is war."  
  
Trip said, anger flaring, "He is not a Nazi, and neither are we."  
  
Garram's eyes were bright with amusement. "Rav told me his control word. Now would be a good time to try it out." He said something in his own language to Archer.  
  
Archer stirred, trying to pull his arms away but Trip and Travis held on doggedly. He lifted his head and spat out at the watching soldiers, "The Reich will prevail. You are all dead men!"  
  
"No!" said Trip, "Captain!" He said hurriedly to the soldiers, "Don't listen to him, he's ill - delirious. He doesn't know what he is saying."  
  
Jones scowled at the Enterprise officers and drawled, "Seems clear enough to me."  
  
Garram said, "You have your orders, Colonel."  
  
Jones replied, "Leave them to me, Sir. "Rest assured I will get them to talk. How soon do you require the information?"  
  
"Take as long as you need. I am in no hurry."  
  
"Sir," said Jones, curtly gesturing to his men to escort them away.  
  
"Wait," cried out Trip. "Gar... General," he cringed at the title, "Archer is very ill. He needs medical attention. Talk to Rav... don't you want him to be... available? For entertainment?" Trip felt disgusted with himself but that didn't matter if it gave his Captain another chance.  
  
Garram didn't reply - just looked on smugly.  
  
Jones said, " Men, take them to the detention center."  
  
Trip and Travis found themselves shoved along at gunpoint with Archer between them.  
  
Trip spoke to the soldiers as he stumbled along. "Doesn't it worry any of you that this guy is an alien? Or haven't you noticed?"  
  
They laughed at him. One replied, "Alien? He's American!"  
  
"Alien, as in, not human!" retorted Trip.  
  
"Well, the Thraxians are another species. Everyone knows that!"  
  
"Why are you letting them run your planet then?" asked Travis incredulously.  
  
"It's their planet too," replied a young solidier. "So what if they are another species?"  
  
"It is not their planet!" shouted Travis. "What makes you think that?"  
  
"Quite!" shouted Jones, catching them up. "No talking. Take them to the prison."  
  
--------------------  
  
The Command Center had been converted from a Xindi study area to one devoted to T'Pol's work on their current predicament. A mirror display of the transporter readings flickered to one side where Malcolm could keep track of any developments.  
  
Malcolm had barely begun his report when the readings altered.  
  
"It's moving," he said, simultaneously receiving notification from Walsh to that effect. The center of the shielding zone stopped and then some minutes later the zone expanded to occupy a larger area.  
  
Malcolm grimaced. "That covers the prison," he commented.  
  
"Our crewmates have been moved there, perhaps," suggested T'Pol.  
  
"Nah, doubtful. The Thraxians still had some entertainment they wanted to inflict. They wouldn't let them out of their sight. It's probably a decoy. I'm almost certain they will back in the dome by now."  
  
"Tell me about the... Thraxians and this dome, Lieutenant."  
  
T'Pol listened attentively as Malcolm succinctly made his report, asking occasional pertinent questions. When he came to the part regarding Captain Archer, he hesitated a little first and looked at her before plunging on. T'Pol had had time to school her reaction and noted that she was able to maintain an impassive exterior. She was not completely in control however as her inner calm was definitely disturbed. She felt satisfaction at learning the Captain still lived but also concern at his current predicament.  
  
Malcolm finished his report and waited expectantly, standing with his arms crossed. T'Pol noticed the tension in his body. He was keen to take action to rescue their comrades but she needed additional time to consider what he had told her. She also saw the inflamed scratches and puncture wounds where the aliens had injured him.  
  
She found the existence of the 'virtual space', as Malcolm termed it, intriguing. He had no real concept of what it might be. T'Pol had a suspicion, and if she were correct, it could be greatly to their advantage. However, it was imperative that they should not damage their chances of success by taking precipitous action. She had to find a way to explain it to him.  
  
"Lieutenant, we must delay a rescue attempt. There are several issues I must consider which may assist us in returning to the correct Universe."  
  
He stared at her in incredulity. "T'Pol, the longer we delay, the worse it will be for the others - Trip, Travis... the Captain. I explained what those Thraxians are like; what they're capable of. You know what it is like down there. I do!" He unconsciously ran a hand over the worst of his visible injuries - a puncture wound from an alien talon. Blood crusted around it and on his torn shirt. "We need to go now - there's no time to waste. We can set down outside the dome and carry out an assault from there. With my knowledge of the forcefield we should be able to breach it easily."  
  
T'Pol realized she would need to be more explicit. "We are now in a Universe parallel to our own. I had calculated that we would be unable to obtain sufficient energy for us ever to return home to our own Universe." She paused to let that information take effect. She noted Malcolm's skin pale. He ran his tongue over his lip in a nervous gesture.  
  
She carried on carefully, "The information you gained concerning the 'virtual space' might enable us to find a way to return making use of its stored energy. It is possible that this space does not exist in this Universe, and that the Thraxians are accessing this Earth from yet another parallel space. The portals they use may be gateways to that Universe. This may also explain why we traveled to this particular Universe when the Expanse was destroyed."  
  
Malcolm didn't seem to be able to understand her, judging by his perplexed expression. "But..."  
  
T'Pol waited for him to continue, but he did not.  
  
She said, "After we encountered the time probe in which the interior appeared larger than its exterior, I carried out some research into the topic. There has been some theoretical work. However it has remained theoretical precisely because the energy requirements to produce even the smallest volume of space in a different Universe are so great that we cannot hope to generate them at our technological stage. You mentioned that Commander Tucker had reported immense energy networks. I believe this to be significant. I need time to assess this new information and determine how we can make use of it - to tap into the energy encompassed in the virtual space."  
  
She paused to give emphasis to her following words. "If we act before I am ready to access that energy store, it could reduce our chances of success. We could find our way to the virtual space barred by the Thraxians - they might close off their access to this Earth when we attack. Then Enterprise would never be able to return home."  
  
Malcolm stood motionless for some minutes as he considered her words. Then, with a twitch of his cheek, he nodded reluctantly. He met her gaze. "I see," he said quietly. "How long do you need?"  
  
"I will tell you when I am ready."  
  
He bit his lip, clearly not comfortable. He said, "Are you sure we should delay a rescue attempt, T'Pol?"  
  
"Yes," she answered. "I am sure." She felt it necessary to look away from him. A flutter of some emotion threatened to make itself known but she controlled it.  
  
"Very well. We will have to do that, then." Malcolm tightened his crossed arms still further, clenched his fingers on his arms. "As soon as we can possibly do it, we must go back for them." His voice sounded stressed.  
  
T'Pol noted that he had accepted her proposal.  
  
Malcolm said, "One thing we need to be careful of... the Thraxian forcefield cannot be penetrated by our scanners. Possibly they have a ship or ships out here that we haven't been able to detect. We should watch out for them, perhaps by gravitational disturbances or the like."  
  
T'Pol said, "It is possible, although if my initial thoughts are correct the Thraxians have no need of starships. I will ask Ensign Patel to make the necessary adjustments to our sensors."  
  
"Good," said Malcolm. "That was worrying me." He rubbed absent-mindedly at a long scratch on his left arm.  
  
T'Pol said, "You should report to Phlox now. He needs to examine your injuries."  
  
Malcolm stopped his scratching immediately, pulling his hand away with a jerk. "Oh, there's no need for that. I have to discuss tactics with the MACOs. I really don't have time at the moment. I'll go later. I'll be fine - not to worry." He gave her a confident half-smile.  
  
T'Pol said, "I wasn't thinking about your health, Lieutenant. Phlox may be able to extract some alien DNA from those wounds. This could assist us in identifying this species which may prove helpful. We only have their word for who they claim to be."  
  
Malcolm started, somewhat surprised and a little deflated. "Oh... oh, I see. Very well, I'll go to Sick Bay now."  
  
He gave a quick nod of the head and left at a brisk walk. T'Pol felt a certain satisfaction in observing his reactions in addition to that gained from knowing that Phlox would indeed treat their reluctant armory officer. It was... devious but effective, she mused. Most astute. Her knowledge of human psychology was improving.

* * *

TBC 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

**Chapter 13**

Trip and Travis were hustled along to the detention center with Archer stumbling along between them surrounded by a squad of jumpy soldiers. Colonel Jones had set off in another direction and left the prisoner escort under the command of a Corporal whose manner left no doubt as to his hatred for the three Enterprise officers .

Trip had a hold of Archer's wrist and was dismayed to feel his wildly thrumming pulse. He was relieved to be out of Rav's hands - his direct control that is - but Garram's parting shot that Archer was a Nazi officer had been vindictive and stirred up these young soldiers who were guarding them.

"Hold on, Captain," muttered Trip, giving Archer's arm a squeeze. "Just hang on in there."

Archer groaned and swung his head over. "Trip? What's... what's goin' on?"

"It's a misunderstanding. We'll get you some help as soon as we can."

A snort from a soldier to Trip's side was followed by a shove with a rifle. "Yeah. He's going to like the help we'll be givin' him okay!"

Trip stared grimly at the man. "You won't get anywhere if you don't do something for him. He won't be in any fit state to answer you. It's in your own interests to get him some medical attention."

"I don't care what we get out of him. That's nothing to do with me. Me - I'm just glad to get my hands on the enemy!"

"He is not the enemy!" protested Trip, hoisting Archer's arm a little higher on his shoulder.

"That's not what it sounded like. What was it he said? Huh? Something about the Reich winning. And we are all dead? Yeah - sure sounds like some 'misunderstanding'!" The soldier was angry.

"He's ill. He doesn't know what he is saying. He's been brainwashed."

"Shut it!" The soldier gave another more powerful push with his weapon.

Trip concentrated on keeping his feet and gave up trying to convince the man. He looked around. Where was Malcolm? The aliens' shielding device would prevent transport nearby but surely they could reach them by setting down elsewhere. Each corner he came to he expected to see a rescue party and each time he was disappointed. He couldn't understand it? Was there a technical malfunction with the transporter? Could be - it wasn't the most reliable of devices. Whatever it was, they only had to keep safe for a little longer, didn't they?

They arrived at the detention center. Trip was glad of the brief respite as he lowered Archer to a bench while the soldiers roughly searched him. The Captain was no lightweight. He sat next to him as Travis submitted to his turn, taking a moment to run his hand over Archer's forehead. He was still hot, burning up.

"On yer feet," shouted the Corporal, prodding Trip with his rifle muzzle.

Trip didn't know much about old-fashioned weapons but he didn't think that was safe practice with any type of weapon. The cavalier attitude was worrying. The Corporal didn't seem to have any worries about what his Colonel might say if his captives were accidentally shot.

Trip got wearily to his feet and pulled the Captain up again. He tried one last time. "Listen to me," he said to the Corporal. "If you harm him, or us, you'll be playing into the enemy's hands. Do I sound like a Nazi? I'm American, just like you. We all are. Why would I want to go over to the enemy?"

"Who knows what you'll get out of it? Money? Power? But I've seen the warnings, read the newspapers. We gotta be watchful. Quislings like you, fifth columnists, you might be everywhere, but let me tell you - you won't win. We'll hunt you down."

"But..." was all Trip managed to get out in rebuttal before the Corporal slammed his rifle butt into his stomach.

Trip fell to his knees, gasping for air. Travis staggered as he took all the Captain's weight, gazing at Trip in horror.

Trip shook his head. This was hopeless - he was making the situation worse for them. He resolved to stay silent from now on. These soldiers' minds were made up. There was no way any words from him could alter that.

The soldiers watched in cruel amusement as Trip painfully regained his feet, clutching at his stomach. He took Archer's arm across his shoulder once more and the three men trudged along the corridors, although in reality most of the burden was now taken by Travis.

The Corporal pulled them to a halt outside a cell. He faced Archer who liftyed his head in a vague recognition of a form in front of him. The Corporal pulled back his fist and let fly across Archer's face. "In case he doesn't last long enough for me to get a go at him later," he snarled in explanation.

"Why?" said Travis, unable to stay silent any longer. "Why are you doing this? We haven't harmed you."

"He's a Nazi," spat out another soldier - a young man with untidy blond hair. "What do you expect?"

"He is no Nazi," said Travis, giving Archer's arm a pull to hold him up. The Captain lolled forward in Trip and Travis' arms, blood running from his nose. He wasn't even sufficiently aware to register the Corporal's assault.

"The General says he is," replied another man.

Travis glared at the small group surrounding them. "If you don't help him now, how are you going to get any information out of him?"

The blond soldier snarled and dealt Travis a hard blow to his face. Travis reeled back but kept a hold on Archer.

"Throw 'em in the cells," said the Corporal. "We'll have plenty of time for payback with these two. Put the Nazi in here." He opened the heavy steel door to the nearest cell.

Travis and Trip stood and looked at him. Impatiently, two of the soldiers pulled Archer from their arms and flung him through the door. He fell heavily to the floor and lay unmoving.

Trip shouted, "He needs a doctor! What is wrong with you people? At least let me stay with him."

His answer was a blow across his head with a rifle butt and he was slung into the next cell, with an added lift on his way from the Corporal's boot.

Travis was pushed into the next cell.

"See you bastards soon, for some fun," called the Corporal, his words echoing down the corridor with laughter from his friends.

Trip raised his hand to his throbbing head, touching the sticky blood around his wound. He didn't blame the soldiers entirely. War had clearly brutalized them, but he felt hot fury at the Thraxians. Surely, rescue would come soon?

----------------

Phlox lifted the vial containing clear serum and inspected it closely with some satisfaction. He had successfully extended the Thraxian DNA segments he had extracted from Lieutenant Reed's injuries. He smiled as he recalled the Lieutenant's indignant response to his treatment and his insistence that he didn't have time. As always, Phlox had won the battle. Thankfully so, as one of the wounds had already become infected. Much longer and it would have been significantly harder to deal with.

The Lieutenant had suffered a number of scratches and puncture wounds inflicted by different individuals. That had given Phlox a variety of genetic material to work with, and accordingly he had hopes of good progress.

He placed the vial in the input tray and slid it into the analyzer. This was set to identify each genetic code sequence. Then the read outs were automatically set to cross match with his all-species database. It was a long procedure and Phlox was not sure it would yield anything which could be of use to them, but it was all knowledge and might prove relevant to their predicament. However, even with the main computer processor tied into the task it would take several hours for the comparison to be completed.

While that was running, Phlox decided to use the acquired sequencing data to predict the biology and anatomy of the Thraxians. He had had a great deal of experience with this technique because of their dealings with the Xindi, so he felt he should able to get rapid results without the false starts that had dogged his first attempts in this field.

He sat down and patiently began his work.

--------------

The armory was crowded. Everyone's attention was riveted on Malcolm who was deep into his briefing.

Malcolm was now in his uniform. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed by Phlox but he hadn't bothered to take a shower - just peeled off the tattered shirt and flannels and stepped into the uniform. He was not going to waste time on trivial matters with Trip and the others depending on him. He had a promise to keep.

The screen displayed the orbital scans of the military base, with several of the buildings now labeled as Malcolm reached the more detailed part of the briefing.

"Here," said Malcolm, highlighting the appropriate area, "this is the detention center." He indicated another area. "And this is where the dome is located. It doesn't show on our scans, probably because of interference by the forcefield." He zoomed in. "It is most probable that the Captain, Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather are being held in a space, again not visible here, which is accessible by the dome."

He surveyed the men and women ranged before him. "This space is huge, much bigger than the dome. I know that sounds odd, but believe me that is exactly right. You will not be aware of this, because it is classified, but Enterprise had already encountered such a phenomenon on one of our earlier missions. Accept it for what it is, and don't think about what makes it like that. I know I don't!"

He crossed his arms and gave a grim smile around the company, being rewarded with a quiet ripple of laughter. The MACOs were in good form and eager to do their job.

Malcolm carried on. "We will go in in two teams, transporting down in this area here. It is some distance from the camp but we can't risk being ambushed as we transport. We enter the compound here, then through this barbed wire fence here. The first squad, Alpha squad, under my command, will penetrate the forcefield surrounding the dome. I will be placing charges at these locations. Study the layout of the dome. I have shown our route in. Once in the virtual space - again, study the layout and routes - we will search for Captain Archer and the others. The second squad, Bravo squad, is to penetrate the detention center from the rear and use scanners to search for our crew's biosigns. Corporal McKenzie is in charge of that operation. Sergeant Kemper is to act as backup with his team.

"We are likely to meet heavy resistance. The soldiers at the detention center will be on high alert, as they have recently had a breakout." He grinned at the MACOs. "They are armed with primitive projectile weapons and explosive grenades. Do not take these lightly. They are perfectly capable of inflicting deadly injuries.

"The virtual space is inhabited by a large number of aliens who are armed with sophisticated weapons. We will probably have to fight for every inch.

"Study these materials, get your gear together and be ready to go as soon as we get the okay from T'Pol."

Malcolm swept his eyes over them and gave a nod of satisfaction. "Dismissed."

The MACOs snapped to attention and broke ranks to carry out their orders.

Malcolm watched all the activity pensively, rapping an impatient foot. He wanted to go in now. Correction – he _had_ to go in now.

If T'Pol had not made any progress they should forget about tapping into the virtual space energy and concentrate on retrieving their friends. Given the likely resistance they would be meeting, Malcolm was very pessimistic of getting anywhere near the energy network, let alone finding a way to use the energy. They really needed Trip for that. Hess was doing her best, but she hadn't seen it, and Malcolm's descriptions hadn't been detailed enough.

He turned on his heels and left to go see T'Pol. She had to let him go now - they couldn't delay. He was not prepared to take no for an answer.

---------------------

Travis stared up at the window of his cell and wondered how long he had been in here. With no method of counting off the minutes, he had no idea. When he had been unceremoniously dumped in here, he had, perhaps naively, believed it would only be a short while before rescue came. He sat on his bunk with his back against the wall and idly fingered the coarse fabric of the covering blanket.

For some reason, Malcolm had run into a problem. Could it be that shielding device the aliens had given the soldiers? Probably. It would prevent transport as well, wouldn't it? He was no expert in transporter technology but it stood to reason: if there were no biosigns available then there would probably be no transporter co-ordinates either. He sighed. There was no way to transport.

So, there would be an assault from outside the building? Perhaps they were waiting for dark? The light did seem less bright outside now.

Travis grunted. He hoped they would come soon. The Captain had looked terrible. He was barely alive. Every moment counted. But Malcolm knew that didn't he?

And Commander Tucker wasn't in too good shape either. Getting smacked around by a soldier with a rifle was not to be recommended. He grimaced as he remembered the loud crack of the blow to Trip's skull. It could well be fractured.

Travis felt along his swollen split lip. The bleeding had stopped now. In comparison, he had got off lightly. He eyed the bucket on the floor by the end of the bunk. He didn't want to use it, but he might have no choice soon. Looking up again at the window, Travis counted the number of tiles above it and then counted the rows to the ground. Anything to occupy his mind.

Then he heard indistinct voices outside his cell door, some distance along the corridor and getting closer. Boots echoing.

He felt his guts clench. Were they coming to begin the interrogation? What was going to happen? He felt almost physically sick as he remembered the few words Archer had let slip about what he had endured. Remembered the visual evidence.

Footsteps stopped outside his door. With a clatter, the spyplate was opened and then let drop. Travis glanced toward it but couldn't see anyone from his position. Then a key turned in the lock and the door was slammed open.

The blond haired soldier who had hit Travis appeared framed in the door, the harsh light from the corridor delineating his outline. Travis leaned back against the wall, determined not to show any reaction. He sat in silence, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the soldier.

The soldier pulled the door shut behind him with his free hand. The other carried his rifle leveled at Travis. "My pal's outside, so don't try anything," he warned.

Travis eyed the rifle pointed at his chest. He thought that would count as deterrent enough.

The soldier leaned against the wall next to the door. He gave a thin-lipped smirk, almost mocking. "Seems like you're in trouble, fella," he said.

Travis gave a small nod. "Uh huh." Where was this going?

The soldier seemed nervous, on edge. He twitched a shoulder and his fingers played about on his rifle. His foot scuffed around on the concrete floor. He gave Travis a look, almost cunning, from half closed lids. "I heard what you said outside, about the aliens."

Travis wondered if he had deeply offended the man. The Thraxians appeared to be highly regarded by these soldiers. After all, Garram was a general! He half-expected another punch to come his way.

The soldier said, "Did you mean it? That they aren't from Earth, I mean."

Cautiously, Travis nodded, "Yeah."

"Where d'you hear that from?" The voice was almost accusing in its tone.

Travis didn't know how to answer. He gave a small shrug.

"Who told you that?" asked the soldier again, more insistent.

Travis shook his head. "It's something I've always known. I don't know how."

The soldier gave a snort. "You know, saying stuff like that will get you killed anyway? Even if you're not a Nazi."

Would it? Travis was surprised but then, it would make sense. The Thraxians would clamp down hard on any dissent. They had to maintain their position, otherwise they could wave their game goodbye. He gave a snort. Rav wouldn't stand for any rebellion. Even Strixam had a nasty side to him.

Travis said to the soldier, "It is true. This is not their world."

"One of my pals told everyone in the squad that once. About the Thraxians coming from somewhere else. He was transferred away. We never saw him again." The soldier faltered.

"What made him say it then?" Travis probed delicately. This was a difficult subject for the boy. Yeah, he was no more than a boy despite his bravado and his uniform. Travis felt very sorry for him. What sort of life had he had? Forced into fighting at a young age by a centuries-old war. No doubt he had lost many friends and family members because of it.

The soldier lowered the rifle muzzle. "He said his grandfather told him, when he was drunk. He said it was important that everyone knew about it."

"Did you believe him?"

"'Course not!"

"Then why do you want to talk about it?" asked Travis quietly.

"Dunno." An almost sullen response.

Travis realized the soldier wanted something but didn't know what to do. Casting about for some way in which to reach the young man, Travis said, "Do you read science fiction?"

"Like Superman? Yeah." The soldier brightened enthusiastically.

"I, and my friends, you could say we are from the future..."

The soldier gave a skeptical sad smile, "I don't think so..." and turned to leave.

Travis saw he was losing the man. Quickly, he said, "No, really, we are. You saw the device my friend had, the one about this size, silver - the one the General took." He described the communicator with his fingers. "Did you see it? Did that look as though it was from the future?"

"Yeah, a little."

Travis gave a firm nod. "See? That's how I know about the aliens. They don't exist where I'm from. That's how I know they aren't from Earth. We found out that they come from another planet a long way away. They don't belong here."

"That's what you say. How can I believe that?"

Travis had a wonderful idea. "Get some old books, two hundred years old or more. There will be no mention of the Thraxians in them, I guarantee it."

The soldier gave a short laugh. "Huh! And where would I get old books from? There aren't any, are there, because of the war."

"Oh." Travis thought a little. "Well, there must be family stories, tales people tell of what it was like before the aliens came, what it was like when they first arrived?"

The soldier stopped fidgeting and stood perfectly still. "Go on," he said.

"If you find different people with the same stories, they must be correct."

The soldier eyed him, then said quietly, "That pal I told you about, the one who disappeared. What he told us was like what my mom told me. I've never told anyone, and she hasn't... only me."

Travis said cautiously, reeling him in, "So, you believe me then?"

He stared at Travis. "My mom told me that lots of aliens appeared at the same time all over the world - in different capitals. But then our leaders told the people to obey them, that it would all be okay. That they would help us win. But they said that to everyone. Anyone who resisted was killed or changed their mind." He gave a jerk. "That was hundreds of years ago. My mom told me, and told me to tell my kids, when I have them. But not to tell anyone else." He glared at Travis. "If you say anything, I'll say you're lying!"

Travis shook his head. "I won't say anything that'll get you into trouble. What's your name, by the way?"

"Bob." He smiled.

"Travis. Pleased to meet you, I think," said Travis, rubbing his jaw, with a wry grin in return.

"Sorry about that. It had to look good."

"Uh huh."

"I don't know what to do."

Travis didn't know either. He shrugged. "It's difficult. Unless you can find others who will agree with you, I'm not sure what you can do."

"You can't help then?"

Travis gave a soft snort. "Not from here!" But then, perhaps when they got back to Enterprise...?

"What if I helped you get out?" Bob asked.

"You'd do that?"

The soldier swallowed, then said, "Yeah. I think so. Would it help if I unplugged that security box the General gave us?"

Travis admired the boy's courage. "That could help a lot. But I don't want you to do anything that'll get you into trouble on my behalf. I think my friend'll be coming back for us anyway."

"I'll pretend to fall over the power cord. I'm clumsy enough. The Corporal will believe that okay!"

Travis grinned. "Okay, if you're sure. I'll try to help get rid of the aliens, but I can't promise anything. They're powerful. Why are they the ones in command of the army?"

"They're the smartest at leading. Humans aren't as good."

"Don't believe that for one second, not from what I've seen of them."

A call came from outside the cell, "Hurry up, Bob. The Corporal will be looking for you soon."

"Gotta go," said Bob, immediately, and left, slamming the door behind him.

Travis lay back on his bunk, hoping that he had made some impact. He wished he had had more time with Bob. Perhaps he could have persuaded him to at least take a look at the Captain? He was a good boy. Too bad these aliens' corruption had infected everyone. If there was any possibility at all, he was going to stop the Thraxians from further interference with this Earth.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews. I've tried to guard against long notes because I imagine most people just want to get on with the story. However I had to laugh when I read vlm's review as that was exactly what I was thinking when I wrote that scene: 'My goodness! Travis speaks – how did that happen?!' A shock twist! Poor Travis. Thank you to Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for pointing out the problems. I'll correct those parts.

I had a computer meltdown this week. I am in diligent in backing up so didn't lose too much. It might slow me up if I can't find another machine to borrow as I am now working on the story at work after hours.

* * *

****

**Chapter 14**

The corridors on Enterprise were eerily empty as Malcolm strode through them. He was rehearsing in his mind what he had to say to T'Pol as he went. It would be difficult. He had to persuade her that rescuing their crewmates was a higher priority than accessing the energy from the virtual space. But then, what if they did as he wanted to, and ended up stranded here? Then what?

He swore quietly. There were no right answers. But he couldn't bear the thought of Rav and his cohorts inflicting any more pain on the Captain and the others. That was a concrete possibility, no, make that a probability, whereas the other problem was so much more nebulous. But then, was he advocating the rescue of three people against the return of tens more than that? Of course, T'Pol was not sure that her plan would work anyway.

This was impossible! The choices spun about in a maelstrom. He came to a rapid halt and swore loudly and vividly, slamming a hand against a nearby bulkhead. For once, he didn't care if anyone noticed his loss of temper, but as it happened, there was no one around. He had to choose one approach and recalling Archer's pale face, he decided. He would argue for rescue, and soon, as his gut had already told him. He had already lost the Captain once when he should have disobeyed orders - flawed orders - and stayed on the Xindi weapon. He was expendable - the Captain wasn't. Now he had a second chance, something he never would have believed possible.

Malcolm marshaled his arguments in favor of his decision. He would not allow T'Pol to dissuade him. But then, her logic was usually to be trusted. Damnit! He was doing it again - turning circles like a dog chasing its own tail!

With a shake of his head, he pushed down his doubts and carried on, reaching the bridge where a skeleton staff was on watch. He ignored their questioning looks and made straight for the Ready Room without checking his pace.

Steeling himself, Malcolm chimed the Ready Room doorbell. He realized with a slight pang of remorse that he had not showered. That was discourteous of him. Normally he was especially careful around T'Pol. She would just have to realize that other matters were taking priority at the moment.

"Enter," came T'Pol's calm voice from within.

Malcolm stepped over the raised threshold. T'Pol was working at the desk, a number of PADDs neatly arranged in front of her and the terminal display showing a complex graph with multiple axes and colored indicators. Malcolm didn't recognize what it depicted.

"How are you getting on?" asked Malcolm, trying to stay cool by absorbing T'Pol's poised attitude. He consciously relaxed his shoulder muscles, his arms, fingers... working down through his body. When he returned to the top, he found his shoulders were rigid once more.

T'Pol raised a grave eyebrow. Malcolm saw a slight twitch of her nose and felt utterly uncouth. He resisted the urge to apologize. There hadn't been time and she must know that.

T'Pol indicated the graph before her. "I have made some progress. The energy released by the virtual space combined with the relaxation energy will be sufficient to return Enterprise to our home Universe if we can concentrate and direct the energy along a set course coincident with our own course. That should open up a rift in the continuum. However, I have not yet established a method of selecting the correct Universe as a destination prior to the rift resealing."

Malcolm frowned as he considered her words and condensed them down for comprehension. There was enough energy? Good, but controlling it would be difficult. He commented, "Sounds like there is still a lot to do, T'Pol."

"Indeed," she replied watching him unwaveringly.

He took several steps to the window and gazed out at the familiar constellations, arms crossed. "How long do you need?" he said quietly, afraid to hear her answer.

"I estimate one or two days."

Malcolm grunted. Two days! They would be brainwashed zombies by then, or worse, if there could be worse. Absolutely impossible!

Malcolm shook his head and took a deep breath. He stared out at the stars. "I'm sorry, T'Pol. We have to extract the Captain and the others before then. The Captain was in a very bad way, and those Thraxians have odd ideas of what is 'entertaining'. If we delay any more, there will be no one left to rescue. We still don't know if your theories work or that we will be able to act on them. There are a lot of ways in which it could fall apart."

Malcolm turned to look her full in the eye, to give maximum force to his concluding entreaty. "Please don't order me to wait."

T'Pol considered his plea, noting the tension throughout his whole body, the barely restrained impatience. She was aware of his tangy scent, the taut lines around his mouth.

T'Pol shifted her gaze to the monitor, noting the areas of extrapolation and uncertainty. The Lieutenant was correct that the theory was most speculative.

The danger in assaulting the camp and the dome was that the Thraxians would prevent them from accessing their power source by disconnecting their created and maintained space from this Universe. However, without Commander Tucker, even if the team reached the power source, they would essentially be working blind. His rescue was important to the success in tapping into the energy. Were the Thraxians so invested in their 'game' on this planet that they would continue with it regardless of a rescue mission by Lieutenant Reed and the MACOs? Possibly, from what the Lieutenant had told her. They did appear to exhibit obsessive behavior. And it was possible that the aliens still had no idea of Enterprise's existence or the true identity of their captives. Perhaps if the numbers in the assault team could be reduced, the Thraxians would feel sufficiently confident to continue with their game afterwards. There were many of them to fight, however.

T'Pol looked back to Lieutenant Reed. His fingers were forced down against his arms and his narrowed eyes denoted determination. He was committed to rescue.

T'Pol considered him. If she ordered him to stay, would he obey, or would he lead the MACOs in an assault anyway? She knew he was honorable and dedicated to the service. He would follow orders, wouldn't he? If she and he came into conflict over this, it would split the crew. There would be some who had already mourned their Captain and who could live with further losses if it meant they might see home again. Others would be equally determined to support a rescue bid.

Malcolm sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to make this difficult for you, T'Pol. We all need to stand together. I will wait if you order me to do so."

That was perceptive of him, mused T'Pol. She wondered if her control had noticeably slipped. She was feeling strained and had had inadequate meditation time.

She nodded graciously. "Thank you for that reassurance, Lieutenant." After a small pause she added, "Malcolm."

He gave a small smile at that acknowledgement before grim determination cloaked his features once more.

T'Pol had decided and felt satisfaction at her conclusions. She did not want to lose their companions and her logic supported her.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Proceed with the assault."

Malcolm broke into a broad smile. "Understood!" he exhaled.

T'Pol added, "Minimize any threat the Thraxians might perceive to the virtual space."

Malcolm frowned, "That will be difficult," he replied, "but we don't want to frighten them away do we, not yet anyway. I'll see what I can do."

-----------------

'I'll see what I can do,' he'd said to T'Pol, but as Malcolm considered the problem afresh he found he still came up with the same answer. A heavy assault and use brute force to bash a way in. And out, more to the point.

Would a stealthy approach work? Disguise of some sort? The Thraxians were larger than most humans but the main difference was their peculiar articulation of limbs. No human could hope to emulate that, even with Phlox's expert camouflage services. But perhaps he should check with the Doctor anyway. He had an. innovative approach to life. Perhaps there was some obscure method they might use?

He made straight for Sickbay. He saw that Phlox was deep in some intricate task, judging by his close attention to his terminal.

Phlox glanced up and stood to greet his visitor. "Lieutenant! Back so soon?"

Malcolm gave him a wan smile. "Not for treatment. I need to know if it is possible to disguise a human as a Thraxian."

Phlox jerked his head back, almost in amusement. "Your description of them made it seem somewhat unlikely. You said their limbs moved in a strange manner. I'm afraid even I can't alter your skeletal structure!"

Malcolm sighed and gave a rueful smile. "I know. I had to ask. I'm sorry to trouble you." He turned to make for the door.

"Wait, Lieutenant! Can you tell me what you want to achieve?"

Malcolm said, "We need to infiltrate the dome again, or rather, the virtual space it leads to. There are swarms of aliens there, and I had hoped we might reduce casualties if we employed subterfuge."

Phlox thought, holding up his index finger to forestall any further talk from Malcolm.

Phlox gave a small smile. "I might have something of interest," he said. He stepped over to his terminal and stabbed at a few buttons to pull up an image on the main overhead display. "I extrapolated this from the DNA we obtained from your wounds. It is a Thraxian, I believe."

Malcolm moved alongside him and studied it. "To be truthful, I only saw their faces and hands. The rest was covered up. It could be a Thraxian."

"I can move its arm, thus." The arm on the image swung around at what would be an elbow in a human. This joint however permitted a wide range of motion.

"That's right," said Malcolm. "That's just how they move their arms."

"What about locomotion?" The image was set into a jerky walk.

"Yes, Doctor. It's a good model." Malcolm was impressed. It was almost worth getting slashed and punctured for.

"Well then, I hope the remainder is as good." The Doctor tapped some keys to bring up a representation of a complex molecule. "This might react with Thraxian physiology to induce sleep."

Malcolm grew excited, immediately understanding the possibilities this could give. He said eagerly, "We could distribute this around our area of operations, knock them out before they can get in range with their weapons."

Phlox smiled broadly. "Exactly, Lieutenant. I need to make some additional checks, but it is a good possibility."

"When will it be ready?" They could modify some grenade launchers, fabricate canisters... Malcolm's mind was in overdrive.

Phlox smiled at his enthusiasm. "Give me twenty four hours."

Malcolm's face fell. He said dispiritedly, "As long as that? I'm sorry, Doctor. We don't have a day. I don't think there will be anyone to rescue of we leave it that long."

"That is a realistic estimate I'm afraid." Phlox held his arms wide in apology.

"I understand," said Malcolm flatly.

"I'll work on it anyway."

"Yes. That's a good idea."

Malcolm tried to put the disappointment behind him and concentrate on the immediate mission. They would proceed with the original plan. It had to work. He had made the call to delay until nightfall but it had meant leaving their comrades with the Thraxians for several hours longer. He pushed that to one side. He had to make decisions and couldn't afford to second-guess himself, not now.

-----------------------

The assault team observed as the night patrol, standing out clearly in their imager intensifier scopes, met at the mid-point of the boundary fence, turned and made another pass.

"Next time," murmured Malcolm.

The two dedicated snipers readied themselves. The sentries reached their far limits and repeated their pattern, meeting briefly, then turning. Silently, the MACOs took aim and fired - two shots each. One for the man and one the dog. Short bursts that were barely audible.

Malcolm swept his viewer once more across the scene. "Go," he said. The teams moved off, Malcolm with Alpha team to the left, toward the dome, and Bravo team to the detention center. They reached the boundary wire at the same time, quietly dropping down, flanking MACOs alert for more guards.

Without any need for words they cut through the wire with miniature plasma torches and, once through, ran to the cover of the buildings.

Heading up Bravo team, McKenzie crouched low against the prison's outer wall, studying her scanner. Now they were close, it was easier to separate out individual lifesigns around the periphery of the shielded region. She stiffened as she noticed something odd. Dragging out her communicator, she risked breaking radio silence.

"Bravo One to Alpha One."

Malcolm's voice came back after a pause long enough for him to pull his device out. _"Go ahead," _he replied, wasting no words.

McKenzie said, voice low, "The damping field that was cutting out biosign readings. It's dropped." The shield had dropped. Now she could identify numerous biosigns within the complex.

_"Say again?" _

"I was monitoring it and it suddenly disappeared. I can detect bio-signs throughout the building." As she awaited a response, McKenzie glanced at Chang, strangely green in her scope. He was next to her, following the exchange intently. He settled his position and swept his rifle around a full sweep.

_"Understood. Alpha team will hold position. Bravo team continue with sweep. Out." _

"Acknowledged." So, it was down to them. McKenzie smiled. She enjoyed a challenge. In deft voiceless communication using signals she imparted her change of plan. They would disperse around the perimeter and scan for their crewmates' lifesigns.

The MACOS ran along the wall to the end of the building, keeping low. They stationed themselves along it and studied the readings.

Chang made the first target. "I've got one. Mayweather."

'Transport out,' signaled McKenzie, twisting her fist.

Chang called Enterprise. "Lock on here" - he sent the co-ordinates - "and immediate transport." As he watched the lifesign disappeared as the subject was transported. He gave a thumbs up to McKenzie.

The next cells held Tucker and Archer – they were swiftly sent after Mayweather.

'Good work!' signaled McKenzie. She contacted Malcolm. "Brave One to Alpha One. Mission accomplished."

_Well done. Withdraw. _

McKenzie sent her team back, waiting to transport last. As she awaited her turn she kept watch on the scanner, not wanting to be detected at this stage by a patrol. As she watched, there was a flicker, then the shielding zone was reinstated. They had been lucky, for once, she thought as she returned to the ship.

------------------

After satisfying herself that there seemed to be no retaliation from the planet aimed at Enterprise, T'Pol went to Sick Bay to see the rescued men.

T'Pol noted that Travis and Trip were being seen to by medical staff but did not pause to talk with them. She went immediately to Archer's bed, kept private by a curtain around it. He lay unconscious, was strangely dressed and had a large burn along the left side of his face.

"Doctor?" said T'Pol, feeling a sense of dislocation as she looked once again at the man she had thought lost forever. His face seemed unnaturally rigid, as if in the grip of some paralysis. His color was poor.

Phlox sighed and shook his head. "My preliminary scans indicate that he has been badly burned. I can treat that, but of more concern are the Thraxians' experiments on the Captain - some form of mind control. He has lucid periods interspersed with - for want of a better word - murderous episodes. This will prove much greater challenge." He glanced at T'Pol, taking in the worry and concern that she could not hide. "I will do my best, be assured."

"Thank you, Doctor." T'Pol knew he would. She studied the Captain's face once more, noting the harm inflicted on him. She remembered Lieutenant Reed's report and felt a distaste for the Thraxians – not a logical or sane race.

* * *

TBC 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

A/N: I appreciate the continuing encouragement. The story is moving toward its conclusion - a few more chapters to go.

* * *

****

**Chapter 15**

Trip sat on the edge of a biobed, his jumpsuit pulled down over his hips and his undershirt in a rumpled heap next to him. A young medic was examining Trip's sore abdomen, peering at the dark bruising that mapped where the Corporal's rifle butt had struck him.

Trip's attention was fixed on the far corner where Phlox was tending to Captain Archer. The curtain hid what was going on and Trip strained to hear any of the discussion between Phlox and T'Pol who had recently arrived.

Trip had spoken briefly with Phlox when the rescued men had first been brought to Sick Bay – just given the Doctor the bare essentials about what he had discovered concerning Archer's treatment by the aliens. He hadn't got anything of detail he could offer Phlox.

After getting Archer settled, Phlox had checked the other two, given instructions to the orderlies and set to work on the Captain. Trip had gathered that the physical injuries could be treated, but Phlox was far more concerned about the damage wrought on the Captain's mind.

Trip worried at his lip with his teeth. They had the Captain back once more but would he ever be whole? He gave a mental shake. The Doctor had only had a short time to examine the Captain. There was no reason to be so pessimistic so soon. He grunted. He had the Thraxians to thank for that mindset. And the soldiers. Trip pulled a finger across his tired eyes. He needed some good quality sleep – not what he had snatched in that damned cell.

Trip flinched at a sudden stab of pain, letting out a hiss. He snapped his head around to the offender.

"Sorry, Sir," said the young medic whose gentle touch had provoked the reaction.

Trip looked down at him. "It's okay, Crewman," he reassured the man. "You weren't the one that caused this."

The Crewman concentrated on his task, applying a gel that Phlox had given him around the sore area. Trip felt the pain diminish as it penetrated into the skin and eased the deeper layers.

"That's better," grunted Trip. His head wound had already been cleaned and a dressing applied after Phlox had examined it. Trip had been lucky: there was bruising and an abrasion but no fracture.

Travis sat on the adjacent bed, waiting for Phlox to sign him out. He started then stared at Trip in some concern, moving around to get a clearer view. "What's that?" he asked, nodding to more ugly bruising around Trip's ribs. It seemed to extend around his side. "I didn't think you'd been hurt there."

Trip gave a grimace and lifted an arm with some difficulty to give the medic room to work on that injury. "The guys decided they would pay me an early visit. Soften me up before the main event started." He glared at Travis - almost snarled. "Most of this is that Corporal's handiwork."

Travis inhaled sharply. He had heard a commotion when they were in the prison and had worried about the Commander. He was thankful it wasn't worse. Travis said feelingly, "I guess I'm lucky. I had a visitor but he only wanted to talk."

"Trying to psyche you out, uh?" said Trip, finding that talking was keeping his mind off the Crewman's ministrations.

"Not exactly. He doesn't buy that the Thraxians are native to Earth. He wanted me to help him spread the word."

Trip frowned. "We'll see what we can do. This may not be our Universe or timeline or whatever, but it is still Earth and these people are still humans. Hell, even if they were aliens I wouldn't let these Thraxians get away with what they are doing." He rubbed at his temple and winced. "My head's still sore."

"I'm not surprised, Commander," said Travis.

Phlox swished back the curtain around Archer's biobed and stepped over to check on his other two patients. T'Pol paused to close the curtains and followed him over.

Phlox said, "Did I hear you say you were still in pain, Commander? I'll get you something stronger for it."

Trip considered the offer and then gave a reluctant shake of his head. "No thanks, Doc. I need my wits about me. It's not so bad. I've had worse."

Phlox said, "I'm sure I can find something which will help without interfering with your mental capabilities." He cast his eyes over Trip's injuries. "Hhm. There's no permanent damage, I'm pleased to say. Rest should do the trick."

Trip gave him a cynical laugh, cut short as it jarred his ribs. "No rest, not just yet." He gave Phlox a stern look. "I'll take as much rest as you want me to, Doc - once we've dealt with the Thraxians."

Phlox didn't seem too happy at that but didn't argue the point. He kept his mouth shut with a visible effort, then glanced across to Archer's bed. The Captain would require his full attention in any case.

T'Pol stepped forward alongside Phlox. "I need to talk with you, Commander. We must find a method of tapping into the energy store included in the virtual space created by the Thraxians."

Trip grinned at her. "'Virtual space,' eh? You've been talking to Malcolm. Oh, and nice to see you too, T'Pol."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow as she considered his meaning. "My apologies, Commander. I do not wish to appear... rude. However, it is imperative that we act on this as soon as we can. If the Thraxians block our access to the energy store, we will be unable to return to our own Universe. This represents our only chance." She paused, and then added, "It is agreeable to see you back on Enterprise, relatively unscathed." She turned to Travis. "You also, Ensign."

Travis gave her a grin. "It's good to be back."

Trip slid off the bed to his feet, making a grab for the edge as he felt a wave of dizziness pass over him.

"Commander?" asked Phlox.

Trip gave a subdued smile and murmured, "It's okay. Just let me have that painkiller you mentioned."

"Very well," said Phlox. "We will strap you up as well. That'll provide some support for now." He indicated to the Crewman that he should deal with the bandaging and went to get the necessary medication.

Trip said to T'Pol, "I'll get up to speed with our situation. Send the details to my station, will ya? I'll look through them while I eat and then we can talk."

"Certainly, Commander." T'Pol gave him a nod of acknowledgement and made her stately way out of Sick Bay, passing Malcolm as he came in.

Malcolm went straight over to Trip and Travis. He bit his lip as he took in their battered appearances. "I'm sorry," he said, clearly upset. "I should have got you out sooner but the aliens extended a shield around you. We couldn't track your biosigns or transport down."

"I'm sure you did your best, Malcolm. Don't worry," said Trip. "We're back now, and in one piece." His winning smile was spoiled as a turn of a bandage was pulled tight around his ribs by the orderly. Malcolm winced in sympathy.

"How's the Captain?" asked Malcolm, tilting his head in the general direction of the private area.

"Much the same," muttered Trip, a dark frown appearing. "The Doc can sort out the physical injuries, but as for the mental aspects..." He shrugged.

Phlox rejoined them and administered a hypospray to Trip's neck. "Please come back for another dose if you need to, Commander."

Trip pulled on the top part of his uniform, attempting unsuccessfully to hide his discomfort. "Thanks for this, Doc," he said. "I'll be back if I need more." He walked a little unsteadily out of Sick Bay clutching his undershirt.

"Damn," muttered Malcolm, watching Trip leave. "I wish I'd got you out sooner."

"Don't worry," assured Travis. "We'll both mend."

Phlox turned to Travis. "You have no serious injuries, Ensign, you will be pleased to learn. I prescribe a couple of days sick leave in which to recover."

"Thanks, Doctor, but for now I think I should be back on duty. There'll be plenty of time later."

Phlox frowned a little. "If you feel at all fatigued, I expect you to take some rest. And if you are at all unwell, please return to Sickbay. Can I rely on you to be responsible?"

Travis grinned. "Yes, Doctor."

"Very well." At Phlox's wave of dismissal, Travis left.

Malcolm watched him go, and then slid his gaze over to the curtained bed. "Is the Captain going to be all right, Phlox?" he asked.

"As I told the others, I will do my best. I first must determine exactly what was done to him. Do you have any insight into that?"

"No, not really. He seems to suddenly switch from being normal into this brainwashed robot, and just as suddenly comes out of it. The saving grace is that it is a very obvious transition. There's no mistaking which aspect is dominant." Malcolm shivered and swallowed hard. "The Captain did mention probes inserted into his skull."

"Yes, Commander Tucker mentioned that." Phlox's tone was almost conversational, as if he'd been told an interesting experimental fact.

Malcolm stood silently for moment. He started to speak, then shut his mouth, seemingly engaged in an internal struggle.

"Lieutenant? Is there anything else? Are your wounds bothering you?"

Malcolm shook his head. He said reluctantly, "Please be careful, Doctor - with the Captain."

"I will be."

Malcolm needed to emphasize his warning. "Yes, but he can change so very quickly. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

"I understand. Be assured that when I bring him around we will take proper measures."

Malcolm gave a quick nod, almost dismissive, pleased to have got that unpleasant job out of the way. He said, "Uhh, Doctor. How are you getting on with the sleeping gas you mentioned?"

Phlox replied, "I have a chemical structure and method of manufacture. I believe it will work, although I can't be accurate about how effective it will actually be."

"Good," breathed Malcolm. "That could give us the edge we need. Let's organize someone to synthesize it and I'll work out how we might deliver it."

---------------

The Mess Hall was fairly quiet. Travis was tired out but had decided to get something to satisfy his hunger first before he did anything else. It had been some time since he had eaten and his stomach growled in approval when he laid eyes on the choices before him. He grabbed a selection of items and sat down by himself at a table near a window, briefly acknowledging the greetings of the other diners.

Earth filled half of the view, a beautiful sight, even to a non-native such as himself. From this distance, it was serene - a glorious cloud-spun bright Eden displaying no evidence of the evil that was being perpetrated below.

Eating required concentration, Travis discovered, due to his numb split lip. He tried a smaller than usual mouthful of pasta and gingerly chewed. He sighed at the effort - this 'quick meal' was going to take some time.

Travis prodded at the pasta and wondered about Bob, his young soldier friend. He was pretty sure it had been Bob who had managed to disable the shielding device. Without his intervention, who knew how much more difficult it might have been or how many casualties they might have suffered? He owed him a debt - they all did.

Travis considered Bob's situation as he picked at his food. He hoped Bob would be able to pass off his help as mere clumsiness but in his heart knew that he was unlikely to remain unpunished. Even if Bob did manage to convince his comrades that it had been accidental, his action had enabled the 'Nazis' to escape. He would get into trouble - considerable trouble, most likely, particularly if the 'General' - Travis snorted in disgust at the rank - got involved.

Travis' appetite vanished as he thought through the consequences but he had to keep his strength up. His Boomer upbringing abhorred waste too, so he forced the food down.

Soon however Travis was on the verge of giving up on his meal. It was too much effort. He put down his fork just as Hoshi entered the Mess Hall. She saw him at once and came over.

"Travis! I am so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, giving him a quick hug around his shoulders, then frowned at his thick lip. "You're hurt!"

Travis smiled despite himself. "It's nothing, really. It doesn't hurt - just awkward."

Hoshi smiled. "Let me get a coffee and I'll join you."

With Hoshi's company, Travis found his appetite revived and he made steady headway with his meal. She was eager to find out what had happened and how they had found the Captain. She had heard certain details but Malcolm and T'Pol had been too busy to go into depth with anyone not involved in the rescue attempt.

Travis wondered how much to tell her, but with Hoshi's expert questioning, she got a quite comprehensive picture.

At the end of his account, Hoshi looked shaken. "Those aliens are monsters. How can they do that? And purely for pleasure. The poor Captain!"

"Uh huh," agreed Travis. "I told Bob I would try to help get rid of the aliens, but I don't know what we can do. I'm hoping that whatever T'Pol and the Commander are working on will deal with them. I know the Commander is set on doing that if it is at all possible."

Hoshi sipped her coffee - she was on her third cup. "Mmm. It's not only a question of making the aliens leave," she noted.

"It isn't?" asked Travis in surprise.

"No. Those aliens have stolen the history of those people." Hoshi looked at Travis with a fierce gaze.

"Huh?" Travis was a little unnerved by the unaccustomed intensity.

"You said there were no old books, no evidence of what the planet was like before the Thraxians arrived. Think about it. Think about everything that they have lost - history, literature, scientific knowledge... who knows what survived?" Hoshi shivered.

"That's terrible," said Travis as he considered the concept of a life with knowledge of only the recent past. It was appalling. So much destroyed!

Hoshi said, "It's as if their entire identity - identities - have been obliterated. Even if the Thraxians are forced to leave, how can the humans reconstruct their civilizations? They can start again, but it isn't the same." She tailed off, shocked by this vandalism, the cultural wreckage. She grabbed Travis' hand across the table. "Travis - we have to do something."

"Yeah, of course. If we can," said Travis doubtfully. "But how would we go about it?"

Hoshi looked out of the window, seeking inspiration from the magnificence of the planet.

Travis suggested, "We could make some broadcasts - explain to them what has happened."

Hoshi immediately answered, "No - that's no good. They have only primitive broadcast systems. In any case, how much data could we distribute in the time available? And there wouldn't be any way they could record it."

Travis said after some minutes' thought, "We need to download our database - or at least relevant parts - into storage media and give them a way to access it."

Hoshi said enthusiastically, "We can do that, Travis! We make lots of copies so they can be distributed over the entire planet, so at least some will be found and investigated."

Travis nodded. "Yeah. We set up the readers for them too. All they would have to do is press a 'play' button. Make it available in different languages and with plenty of pictures..."

Hoshi grinned. "I could collate and edit the data if you can get hold of the data storage and reading devices."

Travis gave his trademark broad beam. "Yeah, I'll get right on it. And think about how we might distribute them."

Hoshi grinned back. "I better make sure T'Pol and Commander Tucker are okay with this. I can't see that they would object, providing I don't include any post-World War 2 information. It's not like we would be interfering - we would be trying to reduce the effects of the aliens' interventions."

"We need to include a section on the Thraxians' arrival though. I know I didn't find out a lot about it from Bob but there should be enough there for people to judge against their own family stories. We need to explain that the aliens are outsiders."

"Will the people believe us?" asked Hoshi.

"I don't know. We can only do our best."

The two Ensigns grinned at each other.

"What are we waiting for then?!" said Hoshi, getting up.

"Lead the way," answered Travis with a flourish, his weariness fled.

------------

Trip was ensconced in his quarters and doing his level best to concentrate on T'Pol's report. He had changed into sweats and picked up some food from the Mess Hall, not to mention a strong black coffee. He would need to get a few hours' sleep soon, though, he thought, otherwise he'd soon be seeing double.

He was making some progress with her theories - at least, he thought he was. He had had to make some leaps of faith, which made him uncomfortable, but didn't have the luxury of time to fully understand each point.

The doorbell chimed.

"Come in," called Trip, not removing his gaze from his terminal.

The door slid open and T'Pol stepped in. "Commander - you said you were ready to discuss the problem."

"Yeah. Take a seat." Trip indicated his bunk.

T'Pol hesitated then lowered herself onto it. "Have you finished my report?"

"Yeah. I've skimmed it once and think I got the gist of it. I'm going through more thoroughly now. I thought it'd go easier with both of us. You can explain it to me."

T'Pol frowned. "But it is all explained in my report."

"I know, T'Pol, but I find it easier sometimes to be able to ask questions as I go through something new. I've reached a point where that would be most...efficient." He grinned at her.

T'Pol lifted her chin as she recognized his vocabulary choice as one she might choose. "And also logical," she added to indicate her recognition. It would appeal to his sense of humor.

"Yeah - that too!" he agreed. He laughed then grabbed at ribs with a grunt of pain. "Damn! Don't make me laugh, T'Pol."

She said gravely, "I will try not to. I see it exacerbates your injuries."

He couldn't help it - Trip laughed again and paid the price. "Ughh! I really ought to go back to Phlox for another shot, but I wanted to get through this first."

"I understand."

"Now... let's see. Where was I...?"

T'Pol watched as he scrolled through the graphs she had prepared. She saw that the dressing on his head needed to be changed. "Your injuries, Commander..."

"Yeah?" said Trip distractedly.

"It is my fault that you received them."

Trip stopped what he was doing. "How d'you make that out?"

"I ordered Lieutenant Reed to delay the rescue effort. If he had acted as soon as he wished, at least some of those wounds would not have been sustained."

Trip stared at her. "No, T'Pol. It's not your fault, or Malcolm's or anyone else's here, or even those misguided soldiers. The only ones to blame are the Thraxians." He resisted the urge to touch her hand. "Don't concern yourself."

T'Pol inclined her head. "Very well. You must visit Sick Bay soon, however."

"I will. Don't worry." Trip returned to the report. "Right - How far have you got? I see that we should be able to liberate the energy. What then?"

T'Pol said, "I am working on the directional control, that is, how we access the correct Universe. I am making progress and am confident that I will have the solution within two days - two days including the need to modify equipment. Do you think the aliens will be alert to us returning?"

"Doubtful - they probably imagine we've left for good. They didn't give us any incentive to stay around after all." Trip gave a savage scowl.

"Is there a risk they will terminate their connection with this earth because of our activities? Do we need to move quickly?"

Trip considered the point. He said, "They've invested so much in their game, are so committed to it, I don't think so. For all they know, we are five people who have somehow traveled back in time and are lacking in any resources. The Captain did a good job of convincing them when they used those drugs on him. I guess they'll chalk us up as a bad job and forget it. Perhaps keep a watch out but nothing more active."

T'Pol nodded. "That is what I expect also. Very well, we will not unduly accelerate our program."

Trip said, "Okay, then. Let's look at your report. This is what I understand from the first section..."

T'Pol listened as he began their work session. She noted that she was significantly more energized and ready to engage with others since his return. That was an interesting phenomenon. She would consider it later. She returned her concentration to his words.

* * *

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. 

A/N: Thank you everyone for your reviews, with special thanks to Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain who gave me food for thought.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Hoshi smiled confidently at Travis across the situation room display table as the senior officers silently studied her summary. She had gone through the database to produce a first stab at an edited version and was pleased with the results. A shiver ran up her spine. It was an incredible idea - to be the person who would deliver the sum of human knowledge back to these humans. She was conscious of the great privilege. How many others would ever have that honor?

The two Ensigns waited in anticipation as Trip, Malcolm and T'Pol evaluated their proposition. Malcolm seemed intrigued, Trip impressed and T'Pol, well T'Pol was unreadable, thought Hoshi ruefully. She would probably give a cool assent and not realize quite how difficult it had been. But that didn't matter.

Trip said, "You've put a lot of effort into this, I see." He scrolled through the database categories as Malcolm looked on.

"Yes, Sir," agreed Hoshi with an undeniably smug grin, pleased with the recognition.

T'Pol said, "You should have discussed this project with us first before you expended resources on it."

Hoshi smiled at her. "I know, but you have all been so busy. I thought Travis and I could just get on with it, then make a presentation when we had a more concrete version to discuss."

Malcolm nodded in agreement at this sensible approach.

T'Pol looked at Hoshi and then Travis. She said, "I admire your initiative, Ensigns. However, in this case, it is misplaced."

Hoshi blinked. "Excuse me?"

"As I said, you should have spoken with us before embarking on this project."

Travis and Hoshi looked at each other and then back at T'Pol.

Hoshi said, "But why? It needs doing."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "We cannot give the humans this material."

Trip and Malcolm looked just as confused as the two Ensigns at T'Pol's adamant statement.

Hoshi gaped, and then said, "Why not? I was careful not to include anything after the start of the Second World War."

"This is not our Universe, Ensign."

"I know. I understood what you told us about that. But this is still Earth."

"It is one version of Earth," said T'Pol.

"But why should that make any difference?" Hoshi looked around at her fellow officers for support.

T'Pol said, "This is not the Earth we are familiar with. In our Universe, certain people did certain things. For example, Einstein became an influential scientist. In this Universe, he may have remained an Examiner at the Swiss Patent Office - that is assuming he existed at all."

Hoshi was confused. "I don't understand? Are you saying we can't give them our database, even though I've edited it?"

T'Pol inclined her head. "That is correct."

Aghast, Hoshi said, "But we can't not tell the people about what we know - about Mozart, Shakespeare, Murasaki ... philosophy, the ancient Greeks, all the ancient civilizations..." She tailed off, overwhelmed at the scale of it all.

T'Pol said patiently, "These people and aspects may not have existed here, at least in the same form."

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Hoshi with some heat, forgetting seniority and rank in the passion for her quest. "This place is so like Earth was two hundred years ago that I can't believe there have been any significant changes!"

T'Pol's mouth twitched at this display of illogical thought. She explained, "We do not know. We have had relatively little interaction here. Certainly we have not studied culture or what passes for history here. How can we possibly know what is the same as it is on the Earth of our Universe and what is dissimilar? Without large scale studies we can have no way in which to determine this."

Hoshi said, "But T'Pol - what you are saying is that we should leave these humans floundering in a new Dark Age! With absolutely no hope of ever regaining what they have lost. Yet we have it easily to hand. It would be wrong to deny them this! Completely immoral."

T'Pol considered. She said carefully, "But it is not the truth. This is not their history or culture. It is that of the Earth from our Universe. It would be a lie to do what you advocate. That is immoral. We might unleash severe repercussions by imposing a false history on these people."

Hoshi said in exasperation, appealing to Trip, "Commander - what do you think?"

Trip ran a hand over his chin as he deliberated. "I can see both sides," he said with an apologetic shrug. "It might not be a problem where music or literature is concerned, but history...?" He shook his head. "That could be a minefield."

Malcolm added, "I agree. Look what changes have happened here already -"

Hoshi interrupted, "But that was because of the aliens. We should try to put that right!"

"Hoshi," said Malcolm. "We are going to stop them -"

"But that is in the future! What about their past?!"

Malcolm said placatingly, "Perhaps we can be more selective - chose the most important works of literature, art, music, that sort of thing?"

Hoshi said, "But who are we to judge that? Do you think you are an expert, Lieutenant?" She gave him a withering look.

Malcolm snapped back, "No, of course not, Hoshi. But there are some works which are generally held to be important."

"Compromise, you mean," said Hoshi bitterly.

"Exactly," said Trip swapping glances with Malcolm and nodding. "T'Pol?"

Before T'Pol could answer, Hoshi said, "With respect, that's not good enough. You can't divorce art from culture or culture from history. You need context... it has to have meaning."

"But T'Pol is right. It isn't this Earth's history... not necessarily," said Trip.

Hoshi glared at him as she realized she was losing the argument.

Travis stepped into the fray. "Uh, could we tell them that?"

"Sorry?" said Trip.

Travis said, "Tell the people that this comes from a parallel world. Say that we offer the information in friendship, but that it might have been different here."

Malcolm snorted. "Do you really think they would believe that?" He couldn't hide the scornful tone to his words. "A parallel world?"

"They might," said Travis defensively. "That soldier I spoke to seemed to believe in time travel."

Malcolm grimaced. "But that was one person. And with respect, one sci fi fan isn't going to convince the world, is he?"

Travis said firmly, "I know it's not perfect, but what else can we do? This world is already damaged by what the Thraxians did to it. It's never going to be how it should have turned out without their interference."

Hoshi nodded. "Yes. And remember, we also need to tell them that the Thraxians are not native to Earth, that they have been using humans for their own purposes. We can tell them about the different Universe in that section. Make it part of the first messages they hear."

Malcolm made a skeptical noise which earned him an annoyed glare from Hoshi.

Trip said thoughtfully, "We do have something else which might convince them. T'Pol and I think we can control the energy we are going to extract from the Thraxians' supply. When we do extract the energy, their virtual space will collapse. The portals between it and Earth will no longer exist. That means that the Thraxians won't be able to come and go any longer. The humans will notice that - will wonder about it. Our recordings will explain what has happened. That will add to our credibility."

Trip looked hopefully at T'Pol and at Hoshi.

"I'm not sure that will stop the aliens completely," said Malcolm, tapping the table top with a couple of fingers. "If there are any left on Earth when we collapse the space, they'll stay here, won't they?"

"Yes," said Trip. "But there will be a limited number of them and they'll be stranded on Earth. However good these Thraxians are, I can't imagine they will be able to re-establish that virtual space very soon. They probably won't want to anyway, because the humans will realize something is wrong. That would put a wrench in the aliens' war games."

Malcolm said, "Mmm. We should have teams standing by to deal with any stray Thraxians." His eyes narrowed. "And I certainly hope that one of them is Rav. What I wouldn't give to deal with him personally." He swept a cold, hard gaze over the company.

Trip sighed. "We won't have time. All our efforts will need to be focused on extracting the energy. In any case we can't do it all for the humans. We can help them by telling them what has happened but how they deal with it is up to them. We won't be here after that. With luck."

Hoshi said, seeing the discussion had slid off at a tangent, "So - does this mean we are going to give them this database? Tell them it's from a parallel world?"

Trip turned to T'Pol. "What do you think about this? I think we should include as much as we can."

All the humans looked at her as T'Pol contemplated the proposal. Eventually she said, "It is not ideal, but I believe it to be an acceptable compromise. Ensigns - please work on the explanatory message we will leave with the inhabitants. That will require careful wording if we are to do our best with this approach."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Travis.

"Thank you," said Hoshi with a tired smile.

------------------

Travis was in Engineering talking to Ensign Walsh. They had annexed a corner away from the warp core and were hunched over some equipment scattered across a workbench. Travis' efforts had yielded a recommendation for the hardware and a suggested dispersal arrangement for the units over the planet. Now they had to put it into practice, starting with manufacturing the units.

"Hey, Sirs!" called a senior Crewman. "Transferring to the dark side?" He laughed.

Travis grinned at him. He recognized the man - Kaveleshi. "Uh huh - no way. I'd like to enlist some help from here, though, Crewman. How do you feel about assisting the army of light, even if they are Helm and Armory?"

Walsh said with mock puzzlement, "I thought the Armory was the dark side?"

Travis gave him an amused shove. Spirits were high throughout the ship. Everyone had something to do to support their mission. The only dampener was the condition of the Captain but even that was tempered by the knowledge that at least he was now returned to them. After all, went the general consensus, Phlox could sort out most problems, couldn't he?

Kaveleshi stepped over to the two junior officers. He said, "Sure, I'll help. Commander Tucker asked me to lend you a hand. What do you want me to do?"

At that moment, Malcolm entered Engineering, spotted the group and made a beeline for them. He was carrying a mean-looking weapon under one arm.

"Oh!" Malcolm sounded surprised as he took in the components on the bench and the attentive Crewman.

Travis looked up. "Sir," he acknowledged. "Is there a problem?"

Malcolm said, "No - not really. I've got everyone in the Armory working flat out on converting these." He held up the heavy gauge weapon. "Nice bit of kit," he said to himself appreciatively as he studied it. The glint in his eye and still evident bruises to his face leant him a roguish air.

Travis and Walsh grinned at each other. 'The dark side' mouthed Walsh as Travis suppressed a laugh.

Malcolm came out of his reverie and said, "Oh yes. I was hoping to draft in extra effort from Engineering but it seems you two have already beaten me to it!"

"It was Commander Tucker's suggestion, Sir," said Travis. "We're getting the database and reader units built."

"Umm. Two equally worthy causes," mused Malcolm. "I wonder if the Commander has anyone else available?" He gazed around hungrily at the uniformly busy engineering team. "I wonder if he would mind if I just..."

"Malcolm? I hope you're not going to steal one of my people?" Trip's voice sounded startlingly close, then Trip himself appeared from a nearby office.

Malcolm grinned unashamedly. "You've got so many, Commander!"

"And you've got all those MACOs," retorted Trip, winking at Travis.

"Umm, yes. I've got them helping with the gear and lined up to test the modified launchers but I really need another pair of hands to help with the mods – someone who knows what they're doing."

Trip said doubtfully, tugging at his ear, "Well, I don't know. I've got to get the engines and ship's systems in the best shape possible."

"It won't take long," said Malcolm. "Honest." He gave a most sincere look.

Trip wasn't fooled. "You swear?"

"All the time!"

Trip laughed. "Okay then. You can have Williamson, but only if you let me steal one of the Armory team for a short while."

"Who?" asked Malcolm raising an eyebrow and unconsciously bringing the launcher to rest across his front, cradling it in both hands.

Trip shook his head a little at the defensive move. He grinned. "You. We need to discuss some sensor modifications T'Pol wants to make."

Malcolm nodded. "That's fine. Give me five minutes to go through things with Williamson and make sure everything's on track in the Armory and I'm all yours."

"We're in the Command Center." Trip gave a wave and left.

Malcolm called over to Williamson. "How about a fun job for a change?!"

Travis and Walsh rolled their eyes and tried not to laugh.

-----------------

Sick Bay was quiet once more. The orderlies had returned to their other tasks, the animals had been fed and were mostly dozing and the sole patient still remained in his private area and under sedation.

Phlox sat next to Archer's biobed and ran through the Captain's vital signs. Some improvement was shown – but not enough – and most disturbingly, there were some indications of deterioration, particularly in the brain tissue. The Captain's face was still unnaturally taut. The burn and other injuries were healing but what use was that?

Phlox frowned as he considered the data. He had run many tests, indeed, was still running some, but the answer remained elusive. Perhaps if he knew exactly what mix of chemicals had been directly administered to the brain he could plan an attack on the cause. As it was, he could treat symptoms but not the heart of the matter.

He stared at the readouts, noting the odd glitches in the data sets. He suspected that the Thraxians had used some active materials, perhaps viral fragments or engineered enzymes, but his tests were so haphazard that without some idea as a starting point it would be a miracle if he hit on the solution.

He stood up and checked the test results continuously arriving at his terminal. They showed no change, which didn't surprise him.

Phlox felt very tired. He knew the rest of the crew were counting on him and he didn't think he could do it.

Perhaps he should awaken Archer?

He squashed that idea as soon as it popped into his mind. He had tried that once and it had been most distressing to all who'd witnessed it, not excluding himself. But it wouldn't help in any case. He couldn't believe the aliens would have explained to the Captain in sufficient detail what drugs they'd used.

No, he would need to find another approach. But what?

---------------

Malcolm stared at the graphs and equations set up on the main display in the Command Center. "I confess I can't follow this, well, most of it," he said waving a hand at the offending items.

Trip pulled up another diagram. "This is our sensor array output."

"Yes, I do recognize _that_!" said Malcolm, a note of irritation in his voice. "You said you wanted to modify the sensor arrays. How, why and to do what?"

T'Pol picked up a scanner from a desk.

Trip said to Malcolm, "This is amazing! Watch this."

Malcolm grunted, determined to remain unimpressed.

T'Pol said, "This scanner has been successfully modified to discriminate between matter from our Universe and from this one." She held it in front of her to show the display to the others. The display was a matrix of digits. She moved the scanner around and the displayed information remained static.

Malcolm noted that and gave a nod of understanding.

T'Pol bent down and picked up a shoe – one of the pair she had worn when in disguise during their foray into the camp. She carefully placed it on the desk.

She said to Malcolm, "Now, as I direct this at this shoe, obtained from this Earth, the readings change."

Sure enough, several of the digits rapidly altered, finishing at a set of values quite different to those initially presented. "All matter from our Universe has the first signature, and all matter from the current Universe has this signature." She slowly moved the scanner around to demonstrate again.

Malcolm's eyes widened as he watched. "You're right," he said to Trip. "That is amazing!" He turned to T'Pol. "What can we do with this?"

T'Pol said, "I propose using this principle to 'tune into' our Universe using the sensor array in a reverse mode – as a transmitter. In theory, an infinite number of Universes are potentially available when we unleash the energy, but these rapidly diminish in number. We should be able to stabilize at our own Universe, aided by our sensor transmission to 'seed' our quantum signature. This will assist the space around us to become constrained to reform in a manner that gives optimum continuity between the type of matter which constitutes Enterprise, at the heart of the energy flow, and that of the surrounding space continuum. Thus we should be pulled into our own Universe."

The humans looked at her skeptically.

"It is a theory only," conceded T'Pol, "but it provides our best chance of success."

"And if we fail?" asked Malcolm.

T'Pol said, "We may remain in this Universe or find ourselves somewhere else entirely."

"Or," said Trip quietly, "Enterprise might not be up to another journey between Universes. We might not make it. That's why I'm determined to get systems and everything else in the best shape I can."

"We have to try to get back," said Malcolm. "I think everyone on board will be willing to risk it."

"Indeed," agreed T'Pol. "However, I will ensure all personnel are aware of what we propose and its risks."

Trip shook his head, "I don't think you'll get any objections, T'Pol."

Malcolm rubbed a hand over his chin as he considered the practicalities. "I can make the adjustments you want, T'Pol but it will take time. There are directional relays and filters that will need to be swapped around. We won't have weapons' targeting ability after I've made them of course..."

"Let's hope they're pleased to see us when we get back, then," said Trip.

Malcolm nodded. "I know. Each step as it comes."

"Exactly. Do you want someone to help?"

"No. I think it'll be easier as a one-man job. I better get started. To think I once liked being busy," he commented with a wry smile."I'm not so sure about that anymore."

"I'll remember you said that," said Trip. "And for the record, I agree with you!"

* * *

TBC

A/N: There's some action at last in the next Chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

The Command Center which had previously been the hub of the data gathering on the Xindi threat and Enterprise's mission into the Expanse, now was devoted to finding a way home, back to their own Universe and time.

The officers stood facing the main display as T'Pol presented her findings and her theories, with Trip following up and trying to put it into concrete terms for his colleagues.

Malcolm yawned and dug a finger in the corner of his eyes, no longer bothering to try to hide his fatigue. He absently rubbed at the healing scratch on his bare left forearm, his uniform sleeves being pushed up over his elbows.

Phlox frowned as he noticed that but decided not to say anything. He studied the other officers. They all looked washed out, even T'Pol. Hoshi was pale and Travis had lost his normal aura of buoyant indestructibility.

Trip had been working almost solidly since his rescue, taking catnaps when he felt the need and shoveling food as he worked. Despite his protestations that his injuries didn't bother him, he still moved carefully and kept his ribs strapped up. A smaller dressing covered the cut to his head. Smudges of grease on his face and around his knuckles and nails showed that he had been doing his part to get the ship straight alongside his engineers. How he had managed to keep the team working at top efficiency and still act as a sounding board for T'Pol was anyone's guess. He pulled his hand around the back of his neck, stretching his head up and straightening slowly to pull any kinks out.

T'Pol concluded her briefing. "And so, based on these calculations, there should be sufficient energy available to us to create a corridor for us to return."

She paused, anticipating questions. Hoshi and Travis nodded, not having followed much of the mathematical work but happy to take its conclusion on trust. Malcolm was frowning, trying unsuccessfully to fully understand what she had said.

"You said we will extract the energy from the virtual space via one of the Thraxian portals?" asked Malcolm.

"Yeah," said Trip. "If we can keep a portal open, the energy should erupt through it as the space contracts. That will be its only outlet."

"Should we open more than one portal?" asked Travis. "That way, even if the Thraxians shut one down, we would be able to carry on."

"No," replied T'Pol. "We need to define a single point at which the leakage occurs."

"We should use the portal we went through," said Malcolm decisively. "We could try access via another one but I'm sure they will have similar levels of protection. At least we know what the one in the camp is like."

"Agreed," said T'Pol as the others nodded.

"What happens if they manage to close the portal before the process is complete?" asked Malcolm, rubbing his hand over his chin.

"Then, Lieutenant, we would have insufficient energy to form the rift in the continuum and be unable to return home," said T'Pol gravely. "However, that is a moot point. Once the flow is started, it will be impossible to close the connection. The amount will be too great to stop."

Trip pulled up a schematic onto the main display and highlighted various regions. He said, "I had a good look at the Thraxian power system when we went walkabout around their construction. Obviously at the time I didn't know what they were doing, but I got an idea as to how they are set up. I'll need to create an overload condition - channel the various energy streams so that they combine - as shown here. There are safeguards to prevent that, but I believe I can bypass them."

Travis said, "I could go with Commander Tucker to help. I've seen what it's like. Just tell me what to do."

Trip nodded. "An extra pair of hands would be useful, Travis. Thanks." He tipped his head toward Malcolm. "It'll take some time to divert the energy in the system and circumvent the safety mechanisms. We will need plenty of protection from the MACOs."

Malcolm said, with a smile at Phlox, "The Doctor has come up with an excellent idea to get the odds in our favor. It should keep the Thraxians off our backs for as long as we need."

Phlox forced a small smile. "I am pleased to be able to assist. But..." He stopped.

T'Pol prompted, "Doctor?"

Phlox gave a heavy sigh, his face falling back into unaccustomed grimness. "I have a request to make. I am having difficulty treating the Captain. Is there any way we can obtain information as to what was actually done to him?"

"We could capture one of the Thraxians for interrogation," suggested Malcolm.

"No, no, that wouldn't be any good," said Trip. "How would we find out which of them knew what to do? However, they implied that they have routinely carried out the procedure on other humans. We might be able to tap into their information systems and download their medical data."

Phlox said, "That would be perfect, if it can be done." He brightened up at the prospect.

Hoshi looked around at the others, and then said, "In that case, let me go down as well. I can find what we need better than anyone else."

"Hoshi..." protested Malcolm, half-heartedly.

"It's okay," said Hoshi, with a smile. "You know, I'm feeling much better. I'm sure I can do this."

"It will mean transporting there and back," said Malcolm watching for her reaction.

"I know. I'll keep my eyes closed," said Hoshi, hoping that indeed she would be able to go through with it. After all, she had transported across to the Xindi weapon and back. Of course, then she had had the 'advantage' of being barely conscious. She balled her hands into tight fists. She had to do it. She was strong, she told herself.

T'Pol looked towards Phlox to see if he objected. Phlox shrugged his shoulders and said, "It isn't ideal, but I think Ensign Sato is sufficiently recovered to undertake such a mission if she is willing to do that."

"Very well," said T'Pol. "Ensign, you will be part of the team that transports down."

"Thank you, Hoshi," said Phlox.

Travis said hesitantly, "There is something else. What will happen to the Thraxians in their virtual space, and more to the point, what about the humans on this Earth?"

T'Pol said, "The Earth should remain virtually unaffected as the energy will be directed toward us in high orbit. Our maneuver will use all that is available, so there should be no reflux back to the Earth. There may be some casualties in the immediate environment of the portal, but I would expect them to be few. I fear the Thraxians will be killed, unless they have an emergency evacuation procedure - which they might do."

Travis frowned. "Can we justify that, merely so that we can get home?"

"Well, I for one don't care about the Thraxians, Ensign," said Malcolm belligerently. "We'll see what can be done to keep the humans away."

Travis looked concerned at this unambiguous declaration. "But, Sir..." he began.

Trip interrupted. "Travis, I would prefer it if we could just get home without harming the Thraxians - yes, even after what they've done to us and to the Captain. I don't want to be as bad as they are. But there's not only everyone on this ship to consider. We've also got to help the humans of this Earth. We've got to stop the aliens using them as... as mere playthings. The Thraxians have corrupted this world and its people. Countless thousands of humans, millions perhaps, have died directly because of the aliens' manipulations."

Trip frowned and ran a hand across the back of his neck. He continued quietly, "There aren't enough of us to be able to stop them any other way. True, our main aim is to get home, but if we also destroy the Thraxian influence here in the process, we will have done some good."

Travis nodded slowly. "I understand. Sometimes there isn't a neat and tidy solution. It's difficult, though."

Trip said, "Yeah, I know it is."

T'Pol said, taking in the weary people around her, "We need to consider the more detailed aspects of the mission. Then I suggest that we delay prior to implementation to permit rest."

Phlox said, "I know everyone is tired. Normally I would also recommend rest but I am very much afraid for the Captain. Time is of the essence."

The others exchanged worried looks. They hadn't appreciated how serious the Captain's condition was.

Trip bit his lip. "In that case, we shouldn't wait. Anyway, now we are nearly ready, I don't want to stop to rest. I don't think I could anyway."

Malcolm said, "The adrenalin will kick in when we go. We won't notice how tired we are. I vote for not delaying either, if it will help the Captain."

T'Pol said, "I agree also. We will carry on."

Trip said, "I'll ask Chef to bring some coffee. No need to stop if we're on a roll, is there?"

They settled down for another long session.

----------------

The transporter bay had never seen so much activity, not even in the final rush to commission Enterprise to speed her on her maiden voyage.

Ensign Walsh was at the controls with Travis anxiously by his side, double-checking each destination point of the database units. They had already sent down the units allocated to locations on Earth's other hemisphere and Enterprise had now returned to her original station. A stack of devices destined for dispersal from this point were now being transported down, one at a time to minimize any chance of error.

Travis was aware of the others crowding in behind him, shifting impatiently and needlessly checking their equipment once again as they waited for this phase of the operation to be completed. Travis glanced at Trip who gave an encouraging smile. It lifted his weary features.

"You're doing a fine job," Trip assured the two Ensigns. He laid a confident hand on the console and gave it a pat. "You keep on going like this too," he told the transporter device. "Nice and reliable, please."

Malcolm stepped over to see how matters were progressing. He heard Trip's plea to the transporter device - their weak link, feared Malcolm. He said quietly, "Ensign Walsh - remember, whatever happens, it is imperative that you keep that active transporter lock open on the portal once the forcefield is down."

"Yes, Sir," said Walsh, concentrating on his current task.

"I mean it. Even if it means having to leave people behind," said Malcolm, driving his point home.

Walsh nodded. He had been told this so many times by now that it was ingrained in his mind. He hoped it would not come to that but he thought he could deal with it if he had to.

Malcolm muttered to Trip, "Do you really think that we will be able to use the transporter lock to direct the energy where we need it?"

Trip gave him a considering look. "You saw the equations."

"Umm..."

"T'Pol thinks so, and so do I. It's our best shot anyway. There's no physical conductor that could cope with that level of power flow. The energy should follow the path defined by the lock from the portal to the space around Enterprise. The path of least resistance." He looked around. "Is everyone ready?"

"Yes, Commander." Malcolm surveyed the assembly - all keen and ready to go, even Hoshi.

Trip watched as the last database unit shimmered on the transporter pad and vanished. He gazed around at the expectant faces around him and commed T'Pol who was on the bridge.

"Tucker to T'Pol. We're all set to go." He saw the tensing of muscles as the people around him heard his commitment to action.

_"Understood. Proceed... Good Luck," _said T'Pol in a dispassionate voice.

Trip raised his eyebrow at that illogical notion and saw the MACOs exchange grins. He grinned too. It even raised a wan smile from Hoshi who was looking like she was going to throw up. It seemed T'Pol was prepared to unbend in order to accommodate human needs.

"Proceed, Lieutenant," said Trip, giving Malcolm a slap on the back.

Malcolm gave a brisk "Aye, Sir" and motioned the first group forward to take their places.

------------------

On Earth - the parallel Earth - it was a dark, warm night despite the fine rain. There was a half moon but it was obscured by heavy cloud. Ideal conditions for the mission.

The first MACOs to transport down crouched alertly around the edge of the transport destination to secure the boundaries. It was a still night, with no sign that they had been detected but they were taking no chances. The MACOs barely noticed the light drizzle as they concentrated on the mission, even though for most it had been a very long time indeed since they had last felt rain on their faces. They stood-by as the remaining members of the team transported down.

A brief check showed all was well - everyone had arrived without incident. Hoshi gave a bright brittle smile and received a reassuring squeeze on her arm from Travis. Trip breathed a sigh of relief and gestured to Malcolm to move off.

The team slipped forward in their designated order with MACOS leading and flanking. When they reached the camp, they dropped down front first on the damp earth. Bringing up the gain on his image intensifier display, Malcolm observed that the boundary fence looked much the same as it had before. The damage caused by their previous assault had been repaired and there were more sentries on view, but from his position he couldn't make out any additional defenses. He gave a satisfied grunt. That agreed with T'Pol and Trip's prediction that the soldiers and aliens would not be expecting a return visit.

Cautiously, Malcolm swept his scope around once more but saw nothing untoward. He glanced at McKenzie and Kemper to either side. They signaled 'no problems'. Malcolm turned his head to look at Trip who was immediately behind him and gave a quick 'okay' gesture. Trip took a deep breath and then patted Malcolm's leg, confirming that the attack should proceed. Malcolm nodded his understanding.

At a silent signal from Malcolm, the MACOs acted, taking out the sentries with ease. The increased numbers meant nothing against Enterprise's superior technology.

The assault team deployed forwards, running quickly but quietly, with only the occasional crack of a disturbed twig betraying them. They breached the fence in several places and made for the forcefield-protected dome, stopping short of it in the lee of a nearby building. Only Malcolm carried on, hugging the shadows cast by the floodlights scouring the camp.

Trip watched anxiously as Malcolm ghosted across open ground and squatted down near the forcefield itself, watching for any patrols within the camp. At every moment, Trip expected the alarm to be raised. They had a contingency plan for that, of course, but he didn't want to go there if he could possibly help it.

As Malcolm expertly fixed his charges he had a chance to observe the rippling field again. He had calculated that he would need to destroy every second one of the emitters to bring down the field completely. His closer observation confirmed that judgment. The field was too uniformly strong to attempt anything less and expect success. The first step was to get the team inside the field, however.

When the charges were set, Malcolm signaled to the others. They rushed forward to the periphery of the forcefield as Malcolm detonated the charges. The field faltered and the team pushed themselves through breach in the field. Silently, they ran through the door and into the interior of the building, closing the door behind them. Once inside, they relaxed a little and breathed more normally. Hoshi gave Travis a weak smile, thankful to have got that stage out of the way.

The first phase was complete. The team had reached the first objective. But the empty lobby gave an illusion of safety - they all knew that. At any moment an alien might appear from the portal room or someone enter from the camp. The MACOs were alert, weapons ready for just such an eventuality.

"The forcefield?" whispered Trip to Malcolm.

"I can deal with it," confirmed Malcolm, ducking his head to pull the rifle strap over his head and handing his weapon to Trip.

Malcolm had decided to deal with this job by himself. He needed to be certain that each microcharge was precisely positioned on the emitter. Until he had a proper look at the emitters themselves, he wouldn't know where the optimum placement was.

"Be careful," said Trip, hating his own inactivity.

Malcolm gave a daredevil grin and swung his bag around to his front. As he darted through the door to risk the outside once more, Trip realized that his friend was actually enjoying it! That was another moment when Trip knew he had opted for the correct career path. This time, Malcolm would have to negotiate the entire boundary defined by the forcefield, increasing the chances of detection. Trip could only stand and wait for the charges to be placed - there was no way for him even to observe what was happening. Kemper caught Trip's uncertain look and gave a firm nod, solid in his belief that they would succeed. Trip was grateful for that unequivocal gesture and tried to settle, working through again in his mind what he would need to do when they reached the power system within the virtual space.

Malcolm indeed was relishing his foray into danger, the adrenalin driving him onward. He dropped down next to the first emitter, running quick hands over its casing as he peered at it via his scope and noting the conduit which must be the power input. He attached his first charge in the appropriate place. This wouldn't take long if they were all of the same pattern, he thought.

He ran on to the next emitter to be mined, missing out the immediately adjacent one. That was the same. He worked quickly but carefully through the remainder, always ensuring a firm connection. He had got three quarters of the way around the periphery when a soft murmur of voices drifted over to him from a nearby building. Soldiers and they were getting closer - walking in his direction!

Malcolm jumped back and flattened against the curved wall, gradually retreating as the voices advanced. He was aware of one of the searchlights sweeping this area, lighting the building in the region just behind him. If he carried on backwards, he would end up caught in its glare. He couldn't run forward to the forcefield without the men spotting him.

He squinted into the dark shadows, trying to make out the shapes of the soldiers. Then he saw that they had stopped. He caught a fragment of conversation - not enough to make any sense of it but seemingly some good-natured joking. He couldn't move without being spotted. He was trapped.

* * *

TBC

A/N: I had intended this to be the penultimate chapter, but it grew and grew, so I decided to split it into two. I will post the next chapter tomorrow (::looks at computer menacingly::) and should have the story finished by Friday.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

A/N: Rapid update warning in case anyone missed Chapter 17 which I posted yesterday.

**Chapter 18**

Within the domed building, Trip was getting impatient. He checked his chronometer again. This was taking far too long. Malcolm should have got the charges laid and be back by now. What was taking so much time?

Travis moved to his side. "Sir?" he said, reading Trip's body language.

Trip shook his head. "Something's wrong, Travis," he said keeping his voice low. "It shouldn't take this long."

Kemper overheard him. "If he had been caught, we would've heard," he said. "The Lieutenant would have made sure of that."

Trip mentally added 'or we would've heard a shot', but said nothing. He wasn't going to be the one to sow doubts here. However, he did start to plan how they might disable the forcefield some other way if in fact Malcolm hadn't succeeded. Perhaps they could track down its power source? He couldn't see anything in this lobby but perhaps one of the other rooms held the key. He was just about to suggest that they explore those rooms when the outside door sprung open and Malcolm threw himself through, ignoring the array of MACO weapons that tracked his entrance.

Malcolm was soaked - the rain had seemingly picked up. He pushed the wet hair from his face and brushed his sleeve across his forehead. "All done," he said with a half grin. "Sorry about the delay." He threw the bag around behind him again and held out his hand for his rifle.

Trip handed it over without a word, his hammering heart steadying a little at Malcolm's return. He had to be sure though. "Are all the charges set?" he asked. "The warning beacons?"

Malcolm nodded as he settled the rifle strap on his shoulder. "Yes, Sir." He pulled out his controller and gave it to McKenzie. She would be responsible for initiating the explosions. She took it without a word and concentrated on her chronometer.

"Right then," said Trip swinging around to look at everybody. "Everyone ready?"

They murmured quiet assents.

"Let's go," said Trip, pointing to the door to the portal room.

All the team save McKenzie and two other MACOs entered the room. A bare light bulb suspended from frayed cord was the only illumination. Trip couldn't help but grin at Hoshi's skeptical glance around the unexceptional room. It was most definitely a product of this war-torn era and not at all glamorous or romantic. He wondered if Hoshi was seeing it in those terms, but he would have to wait to discuss her impressions. Right now he had a mission to lead.

Malcolm had placed himself at the head the team. They stood apprehensively in front of the strange wall which would spirit them, Alice-through-the-Looking-Glass style, to another world. Trip moved next to Malcolm who glared at him, motioning him back. But Trip wanted to be well up in front. There was no telling when the Thraxians might detect their intrusion and he had to have enough time to work on the energy network. He shook his head at Malcolm and gestured him to carry on.

With an exasperated jerk of his head but unable to argue, Malcolm faced the wall, poised to jump through the portal. He fluidly brought his rifle into both hands and signaled the others. The MACOs ranged alongside Trip and Malcolm with weapons ready. Trip lightly touched the wall to activate the blue rippling curtain of light.

The humans glanced at each other nervously and then ran at the portal. Trip had a ridiculous fleeting thought that perhaps they wouldn't be able to pass through and would rebound onto their backsides, but the portal held to its promise. The curtain of light was an insubstantial barrier. They passed through it without hindrance and into the portal room.

The room was deserted. Malcolm and the MACOs ran on to take position at the opening onto the corridor and peered around the corners. Kemper gave the 'all clear' hand signal - there was no one to be seen. Trip understood the gesture and wondered how long it would be before the Thraxians detected them. He felt a shiver up his spine at the prospect of meeting Rav once more.

Trip went to inspect the console in the center of the deserted room. No destination was selected. There was alien script or symbology here, as he remembered from their previous journey through this room. He waved Hoshi over to take a look then joined Malcolm.

"Ready?" asked Malcolm.

"Yeah," said Trip, brushing one hand over his phase pistol and the other patting the pocket containing his PADD. That was purely a precaution. Everything on the PADD was etched in his memory. He had thought through the steps so many times now he didn't think he would need the electronic backup. Still, it made sense to carry it. "Travis?"

"Yes, Sir," said Travis. "Ready."

Trip took a deep breath. "Let's go then."

Trip and Travis, together with their MACO escort led by Kemper, plunged forward through the opening and set off along the corridor in the direction of the power network

As Trip charged along, he heard a muffled thump from behind him. The gas had been deployed. That meant that the Thraxians had found their crewmates. His pulse rate increased by a couple of notches.

Then Kemper, scouting out ahead, halted suddenly at a corner and jumped back, causing his comrades to come to a rapid stop behind him. He raised his launcher and he fired off a canister of Phlox's gas around the turn. Several other canisters sped after it fired by the other squad members. The green vapor spread quickly ahead of them, driven by the air recycling system.

Kemper risked a glance around the corner, and then turned back to his comrades. He grinned, gave a thumbs-up and pushed onward around the turn.

A couple of Thraxians lay unconscious on the floor, one spread-eagled on top of the other in what might be interpreted as a compromising position. One of the MACOs gave an amused snort at the sight. Trip was impressed with the effectiveness of Phlox's gas. It had done what it was supposed to and remarkably quickly too. He ran on with renewed hope. They had to succeed.

When the group reached the heart of the power network the MACOs spread out to cover its approaches, barely giving the pulsing energy conduits a second glance. In contrast Trip and Travis stood gazing at the immense structure, their eyes roving over the pipes and controls.

As Trip stood before the reality of the complex maze once more, his earlier feelings of awe resurfaced. When he had been constructing the model of system on his terminal on Enterprise, he had dealt with it almost as an abstract problem to be solved. This actuality sent goose bumps along his arms. Trip looked up at the network of conduits and valves, marveling once more at its construction. Whatever else the Thraxians were, they had access to some impressive engineering talent. The technology here was incredible.

Trip felt intimidated by the Thraxian brilliance in being able to achieve this feat. How could he hope to harness the energy for their own aims? He gave himself a metal shake and pushed those thoughts to one side. He focused instead on the work he had to carry out. It all depended on him.

Travis said quietly, "Still amazing, huh?"

"Yes, it is that," agreed Trip. He felt a pang of regret that if all went as he hoped, he would be the person to bring it to destruction. He flashed Travis a sad smile. "Let's do what we need to," he said.

Trip stepped closer to the daunting presence of the structure. He allowed himself a moment to study the system again, running his eyes along the major conduits and noting the valves. The indicators ran ceaselessly through the spectrum, showing that there were huge gouts of energy flooding through the system, minutely balanced.

It was mostly as he had remembered. There were a couple of discrepancies but it was not a problem. He could adapt his plan to cope with them. Trip gave a sigh of relief. It was possible. It could be done.

Trip rubbed his hands together as he mentally stepped through the protocol a final time before putting it into practice. He turned to Travis and said, "Ready?"

"Aye, Sir," confirmed Travis.

"Any problems, just say."

Trip gave Travis a now confident grin and set to work. Travis had been tasked to deal with the more obvious junction diversions while Trip figured out the override functions and the failsafe system.

They worked mostly in silence, Trip acting quickly but with precision as his mind focused on the task. Travis was more hesitant but was able to progress independently for the most part. The occasional dull thump of a distant launcher could be heard but even that did not impact on Trip's consciousness.

All of Trip's attention was directed at the job at hand. For him there was nothing else. Beyond the pipes, controls and mechanisms were only hazy surroundings. The near-mystical feeling that encompassed him when working with such matters, the deep knowledge that gave him an almost instinctive feel for what was true, what connections worked, didn't fail him.

"Look out!" A shout from Travis dragged Trip back to mundane existence.

Trip jumped back, startled. He turned to see Travis pointing, saw a Thraxian in flowing robes raise his weapon. "Down!" Trip shouted, throwing himself to the ground.

Travis hadn't needed to be told and was already out of the line of fire, sheltered by a vertical conduit.

A blast of energy seared overhead, vaporizing the atmosphere and melting part of a wall beyond them. Trip swallowed hard as he caught the acrid fumes in his nostrils. Immediately he was back in the room with Rav, and there ahead of him was Jonathan Archer pulling the trigger. Trip squinted at the shapes, seemingly overlaid on a ghostly vision.

The Thraxian moved a step closer, snapping Trip back to reality. He blinked rapidly and pulled his phase pistol from its holster, finding a true aim on the alien. As the alien lifted his weapon again Trip fired, his beam impacting a moment before the red lance of Travis' shot met its target. The Thraxian staggered, then laughed, and resumed his slow approach.

Trip yelled, in a voice lent power by desperation, "Kemper! Here!"

Echoes ran around the structure and that surprised Trip. He wondered irrelevantly about acoustics.

The Thraxian paused as if unsure of what Trip's cry might mean but then carried on implacably – slow but unstoppable.

Trip scooted around, attempting to keep the pipes between him and their adversary. Travis was now right alongside him, shifting his phase pistol to its higher setting. Trip did the same, but he had a sinking feeling. These aliens were tough. No doubt that was why they had developed such fearsome weaponry of their own.

The two men scanned anxiously around. They were running out of options. Trip gave another shout for Kemper, dismayed that he hadn't answered already. Had the MACOs been caught out? Were they under attack elsewhere?

Then a loud boom sounded and the air turned green. A gas grenade!

Trip watched fascinated as the Thraxian took a breath, then another, and then slowly keeled over, his weapon falling from his fingers. Trip knew the gas had no adverse effect on humans but seeing its effectiveness was unsettling. He felt an irrational urge to hold his breath.

Kemper's arrival was announced by a hoarse shout and running footfalls. "Sirs," he gasped out. "I'm sorry."

One of Kemper's team rushed across to check the fallen alien then carried over to the entrance from which he had appeared to guard it.

Trip found he was trembling. Was that being under fire or the brief flashback? He took a deep breath, feeling his body responding, and said to a concerned Kemper, "He didn't get us. We're okay." He shot a quick look toward Travis to verify that that indeed was the case, and Travis gave a nod of agreement.

Kemper grimaced. "I haven't got enough people to guard all the potential approaches. We'll keep laying down gas and rotate positions."

Trip said, "We've nearly finished." Without waiting for Kemper's reply he set back to work, speeding up his actions to make up for lost time. Kemper set off to make his deployments.

"Nearly there," grunted Trip to Travis, closing yet another valve. He stood back to survey his work. Muttering under his breath, he traced around the paths through the piping with one finger dancing in the air to help him keep track.

Kemper returned to see how they were getting on.

Satisfied it was as good as it could be, Trip turned to Travis and Kemper. "That's it," he said. "All set. It'll blow in about five minutes."

Kemper nodded. "Understood. Return to the portal, Sirs. We'll stay to stop the aliens shutting it down. We'll follow in two minutes."

"No longer," warned Trip. "I can't be that precise." He ran a hand over the nearest piece of pipe work. Already the vibration was building as more energy than it was designed for streamed through the path.

Kemper gave another nod, and swung his rifle to guard position as Trip and Travis took off for their exit.

---------------

The MACOs were distributed around the door to the portal room and in the corridor outside. They had dealt with several Thraxian incursions by firing the gas canisters at them. That had stopped the assaults for the moment. Were the aliens trying to regroup, wondered Malcolm. What if they had respirators? No matter - in that case the MACOs had their rifles and grenades. One way or the other, this portal would remain secure.

Hoshi stood near the central console - motionless. Malcolm was concerned that perhaps this was too much for her. Had they all been too anxious about the Captain? Not given sufficient thought to her?

Then she glanced up and he caught a glimpse of a smile. "This is useful," she said indicating the console. "There's some script here. I'm getting a head start!"

He saw she was already making progress. She was not frozen, as he had feared. It was time to get the information Phlox required.

One of the MACOs - Woods - ran back from the forward position down the corridor.

"Situation report," rasped Malcolm.

Wood said, "Quiet for now. The chamber is secure. We're ready if they try again."

Turning to call to Hoshi, Malcolm found she was already at his back. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Keep close."

Malcolm jogged cautiously down the corridor and ducked into the chamber with all the desks and monitors, nodding to the MACO at the opening. When Malcolm had last been here the aliens had been engaged in the war games. Now the monitors still flickered but the aliens were quiet, sleeping tranquilly courtesy of Phlox.

Hoshi gasped as she took it in. "There are so many of them," she said studying the nearest Thraxian. "I hadn't realized they are so big!"

"Can you access the database from here, Ensign?" asked Malcolm, determined to keep the pace up. They didn't have long.

"Uhh, yes, I think so," said Hoshi, searching about for a free desk. The nearest ones were all occupied by aliens slumped across them.

Malcolm saw her dilemma. "Here. Use this one," he said, propelling the erstwhile user - an American-uniformed alien - onto the floor with some degree of satisfaction. He gave a final shove with a foot to get him away.

Hoshi saw a sneer transiently twist his face. Most unpleasant, she thought, but then she was at the terminal and all other thoughts fled as she concentrated wholly on her task. She didn't register that Malcolm was checking each of the Thraxians as she worked.

The Thraxian language was logical, Hoshi discovered with relief. She was able to make rapid progress because of their propensity to add ideographs alongside the script. Some were unintelligible but others were unmistakable and she could use these to cross-reference.

So engrossed was Hoshi that she didn't hear Malcolm's words to her. It was only when he touched her shoulder that she noticed he was speaking to her urgently.

"Hoshi - We have to go now. Get what you can and leave." He glanced at his chronometer. "McKenzie should have blasted the forcefield emitters by now."

Hoshi bit her lip and swiftly downloaded what she fervently hoped were relevant parts of the database. She fancied she could feel the floor begin to tremble. Then she realized it was no illusion. The results of Trip's efforts were starting to become evident.

"Ensign!" urged Malcolm, body tense and eyes wide as he looked around them and at the floor. "There's no time! Take what you've got and go, otherwise it'll be too late!" He plucked at her arm.

Needing no further encouragement, Hoshi picked up her PADD and rushed out of the room, followed by Malcolm who ordered the MACOs to follow them back to the portal room.

Trip and Travis were already at the portal room when Malcolm and the others ran in. Trip glanced at his chronometer. "Three minutes," Trip rapped out. "Everyone out, now!" He swept his arm toward the portal itself.

Hoshi and Travis stepped through the portal and vanished.

Malcolm signaled to the MACOs with a jerk of his rifle. "Go!" he ordered. "Get the others in the building back to the ship too." The MACOs followed the two Ensigns back to Earth where, if all were going to plan, Walsh would transport them back to Enterprise.

Trip said to Malcolm, "There's still Kemper and his team."

"I'll wait for them. You go, Commander."

Trip hesitated for a moment only. "Two minutes, Malcolm."

"Acknowledged," said Malcolm, not looking at him, his whole attention centered on the corridor. He exhaled in relief. "Here they come. Go, Commander!"

Trip allowed himself a grin. "See you on the other side!" he said, and disappeared into the other reality.

Malcolm didn't look at him. Kemper and the others thundered along the corridor. "Go!" shouted Malcolm. They carried on past him without checking pace and through the portal.

'A minute and a half', thought Malcolm turning to follow after them. He could feel the trembling beneath his boots grow as the tremendous energies fought their constraints. Trip wasn't going to be far wrong with his estimate. It was time to leave.

A bellow erupted behind him. Startled, Malcolm spun around. A Thraxian was framed in the opening.

It was Rav, still wearing that abhorrent Nazi uniform.

'Well', thought Malcolm, 'you wanted to get even with him didn't you? Be careful for what you wish for...'

Without delay, Malcolm brought his rifle to bear, an action mirrored by the Thraxian. Malcolm got his shot off first – a hit square to Rav's chest. Rav staggered but kept his feet as his own shot went wild, raking across a wall to leave a gouged track edged by black debris.

Malcolm cursed. He hadn't had an opportunity to test their rifles against the aliens. The Thraxians were tougher than he had anticipated. He thumbed his rifle to a higher setting, desperately hoping it would be enough, at the same time jumping back to evade the Thraxian who was drawing aim on him. Malcolm knew he had to keep the portal open, at whatever the cost.

Rav snarled, "This is no game! You are dead, human!"

Now the ground was shaking and Malcolm could hear a low rhythmical booming noise. Rav looked around in apparent shock, but then grinned as he returned his attention to Malcolm. Rav fired. Malcolm stumbled backwards as the energy bolt skimmed past. It barely touched his weapon but that was enough to instantly raise its temperature to an unbearable level. Malcolm yelped and swore. Despite his determination, he couldn't keep hold of the rifle. His reflexes took over and it dropped from his hands, swinging from the shoulder strap. He made an ineffectual grab at it, darting a glance at the slowly advancing Thraxian.

Rav took aim again, walking toward the console in the unsettling characteristic double-jointed manner of his kind.

In desperation, Malcolm flung himself backward and to the side, anything to confuse the alien's aim. At last Malcolm managed to seize hold of his still red-hot weapon. Whatever else happened, Rav couldn't be allowed to change the console setting. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Malcolm lifted his rifle and let rip at the alien - he was dead in his sights.

The weapon sputtered ineffectually. Rav laughed - a genuine but cruel enjoyment.

"Sod it!" shouted Malcolm in utter frustration as he glared at his rifle's misshapen barrel. He was lucky it hadn't blown up in his face.

Doing the only thing left to him, Malcolm unshipped his rifle and turned it about to serve as a club. He readied himself to leap at Rav. He had only seconds to hold out. If he could keep the Thraxian back for those few seconds Enterprise would be safe. The power would be unleashed through the portal and nothing would be able to stem the flow.

Malcolm blinked away the sweat from his eyes, stance wide, poised for action.

The Thraxian lifted his weapon once more. Malcolm dived away to one side, rolling across the floor. Rav followed with the muzzle, fired...

Malcolm watched in astonishment as the console in front of him melted into a lumpy deformed unidentifiable mass. Rav lowered his weapon with a grunt. As the alien peered perplexed at the mess, Malcolm jumped up and sprinted for the portal, laying each foot to the floor with all the power he could muster. Nothing he could do here now would change matters. The console had had it. Either the portal was shut down or it was locked open.

Another energy bolt chased him as he threw himself headfirst at the portal, a loud hammering filling his ears with the liberation of the energy field.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

* * *

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**Chapter 19**

On Enterprise's bridge, the crew were mute, each person's awareness fixed on his or her designated task. They were under no illusions. This might be the moment of triumph when they returned home - already once falsely experienced - or of disaster. Enterprise could be dashed between Universes like an old sailing ship against the rocks.

The only person who really understood what was happening was T'Pol, hunched over her scanner and dividing her attention between it and the readouts on her console display. She had given several explanatory talks but they went over most people's heads. So - they trusted her: their crewmate. She had been quite clear in her delivery of the potential risks but they all agreed they had to try.

Ensign Walsh commed T'Pol from the transporter bay. _"The team is beginning transport back." _

She acknowledged the report and concentrated on her console.

The readings on T'Pol's indicators became unsteady. She gave a small gasp. Now the values were swiftly rising. That meant that the team on the surface had been successful. The beginnings of the energy overload were apparent.

The first physical inkling manifested itself: a slight tremble throughout the ship, the jarring too rapid for the inertial dampers to compensate.

T'Pol studied the energy readings with absorbed attention, oblivious to the increased shaking thrumming through Enterprise's hull as the wavefronts hit. These were mere ripples - forerunners of what was to come.

Was there enough energy? Had her calculations been sufficient? Her starting data was incomplete. How would that effect the practical realization of her theories?

T'POl drew a breath, schooled her diaphragm and called on her meditation techniques to avoid distraction by unwanted emotion. She had estimated there was a high probability that the transport beam would be sufficient to guide the energy along its path, but had not been able to bring that to one hundred percent certainty.

The gauges' readouts built up in rapid succession, delivering the news she had anticipated but not been able to entirely stipulate. Her analysis was still holding true. The energy levels were rising exponentially in the surrounding space, converting its uniformity into disturbed eddies, increasing into chaos and disorder.

She had time to make an all-hands call, "Brace for impact!" and then they were enveloped in the unfathomable blasts. She held on doggedly to her viewer, bracing her feet against the base of her chair to secure her position.

Switching to the sensor array display, she initiated their transmission, amplifying it with energy stolen from the unleashed energies to throw out their quantum signature, to impress it on the unruly, seething, ungoverned space-continuum, varying wildly with no cohesion.

T'Pol found she was unable to see clearly. The colors were separating out, blurring, however hard she tried to focus.

T'Pol's vision darkened and she lost consciousness.

She couldn't discern the swift procession of quantum states - signatures of countless Universes - as they hunted for their own place and Universe. She couldn't know that the quantum states were slowing their dizzying dance, first one then another becoming fixed, winding down to a final conclusion. A single selection. A single Universe.

---------------

Enterprise's bridge was still. The only sign of activity was in electronic form: the routine bleeps augmented by audible alerts, flashing displays - red warnings evident. The crew lay motionless, draped over their consoles or lying on the floor nearby.

T'Pol was the first to stir. She lifted her head from her console, drawing her arms under her to push her body up. For a moment she was confused but then her eyes rested on the displays which showed her predictions.

She remembered their desperate maneuvers. Had they worked?

With an unsteady hand, she called up the matrix denoting the quantum states - the set of digits that would identify this place. She gazed at them without understanding, still suffering from disorientation. With a quick exhalation, she realized the figures represented their internal shipboard parameters. She entered the necessary commands to scan and carry out an analysis of the surrounding space. And waited.

Around her, the humans on the bridge were also regaining their senses. They were moving now, blinking and pulling themselves together. Gradually their bewilderment eased as each remembered what had happened. Quiet voices asked their friends if they were all right - had they been injured?

Then they turned to look at T'Pol. Seeing her focused on her instruments, they paused, awaiting her verdict.

A brief tone alerted T'Pol to the completion of the analysis. She hesitated a moment, a sudden irrational feeling bringing a reluctance to carry on. She ignored the sensation, unusual though it was, and switched views to display the new results.

The two sets of digits were identical. The shipboard reading agreed completely with the external reading.

Her eyes widened at the result but it required verification.

She ran the analysis once more, aware of everyone looking at her but unwilling to report her findings on the basis of a single sample.

The second analysis agreed.

She swiveled in her chair and said evenly, "We have returned to our home Universe."

There was silence, and then the humans around her erupted into a spontaneous cheer. They hugged one another, shook hands, laughed... T'Pol watched them dispassionately. They grinned at her and waved, including her in their celebration even though she stood apart.

T'Pol considered that the rest of the ship would need to hear the news. She repeated her statement as a shipwide announcement.

There was one additional test required, but it was a formality. As the initial jubilation subsided, T'Pol asked the helmsman, "Ensign Thomas, do the star charts agree with our shipboard date and time?"

He ostentatiously checked the navigation system and replied, "Yes, Ma'am."

That was it. They were unquestionably home at last.

--------------

When T'Pol walked through the doors of Sick Bay she found Trip pacing about just inside them, one hand being driven repeatedly through his hair which was in a disordered state. He jumped as she entered and stopped his marching. T'Pol noticed that his skin was pale and there were tense lines around his mouth and jaw, giving him a severe appearance.

"T'Pol," he acknowledged, bringing his hand down from his head and grabbing his upper arm instead. His grip was tight, his fingers squeezing hard and releasing, then repeating the action.

She inclined her head. "Did you hear my announcement, Commander?" His attitude was not consistent with what she had observed elsewhere on the ship.

Trip smiled but it didn't extend to his eyes. "Yeah, T'Pol. We're in the right Universe again and at the right time. Your theory was correct. Congratulations." His thanks were sincerely given.

T'Pol inclined her head in modest acceptance. "Thank you, Commander, but our success was due to many people's efforts, not excluding your own."

Trip gave a tired nod but didn't smile.

"I assume everything went as planned," said T'Pol, "given that the energy flow was liberated."

"Yeah," replied Trip. "And no. There were a couple of hitches in conducting the energy flows where required, but Travis and I sorted them out. Everyone got back here, but Malcolm..." Trip choked and stopped speaking. A few inarticulate noises emerged. He slumped and gestured to the far side of Sick Bay.

T'Pol now saw that the biobed next to that occupied by the Captain also had a curtain drawn around it. She turned back toward Trip. "Commander?"

Trip said quietly, "He was badly injured. Phlox is doing what he can but..." He gazed helplessly over to the place.

T'Pol said, "What happened to Lieutenant Reed?"

Trip frowned. "I don't know. Walsh pulled him back, but he's caught a plasma bolt or something. I don't know what exactly. His hands are burnt too."

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. The weariness that had been apparent before the mission to the surface now seemed increased tenfold.

T'Pol observed his unhappiness. Indeed, she was uneasy herself but she didn't know what she should say.

Phlox emerged from the enclosed area to speak with one of his orderlies before resuming his work, hidden from their sight. His manner gave no indication as to his progress.

Trip bit his lip, then put his thumb to his mouth and gnawed at it. He stared vacantly into space and whispered with desperation, "We're home. We can't lose him now." He looked fearfully at T'Pol.

She met his gaze and said, "The Doctor will do his best." A poor choice of words but true nonetheless.

Trip took some comfort from them. He nodded. "I know."

They stood in silence for some time. Then T'Pol asked Trip, "Did Ensign Sato acquire the necessary data?"

Trip became more alert, the change of thought a welcome diversion. "I don't know. She said she downloaded something, but I don't know how relevant it is. She's still translating it."

The curtain around Malcolm's bed swished across to reveal Phlox. The Doctor registered their presence and made his way over, massaging the small of his back with one hand. He gave a weary smile. "I've stabilized Mr Reed. I've applied my osmotic eel and done what else I can here. Now we are home," he gave a slightly wider grin at being able to say that, "he should be transferred to Starfleet Medical Center in San Francisco as soon as he is able to travel."

"Will he be okay, Doc?" Trip had brightened at Phlox's demeanor but needed reassurance.

"I believe so. He was brought here in time."

Trip sagged in relief at the news. He choked out, "Thanks, Doc."

Phlox smiled back. "Thank _you_, Commander, T'Pol, for achieving what seemed impossible and returning us home." Phlox nodded to them both.

"It was a team effort," said Trip. "And without your sleeping gas, we wouldn't have succeeded."

"Oh? Was it effective?" Phlox was curious. He leant forward, eager for the report.

"It was amazing! Worked like a charm. Without it, I wouldn't be here now!" Trip gave a broad grin. His spirits had lifted. He had gone from the depths to the heights. "I'll tell you all about it later."

T'Pol said, "I will ensure everyone's contributions are duly noted in the logs. Now I must report to Starfleet. Commander, will you accompany me?"

"Uhh, okay, T'Pol, but I need some time to clean up. Haven't had a chance recently."

T'Pol couldn't prevent the automatic response as she wrinkled her nose. Trip scowled a little and then laughed. "Guess I deserve that!" he said.

She didn't answer him, which made him laugh even harder.

----------------

Sick Bay had a single patient. Captain Archer was propped up in bed with a PADD clasped loosely in one hand and his eyes closed.

He was still in Enterprise's Sick Bay as Phlox had convinced Starfleet Medical that he was best placed to treat him, with access to the Thraxian data and Hoshi's expertise. That suited Archer too. He wasn't yet ready to face the inevitable cacophony that was sure to surround his return to Earth, however low key the authorities tried to keep it. Archer didn't put it past them to encourage publicity anyway. He wanted to be fully fit, or at least half fit, before he dealt with that.

Enterprise had already had her welcome from the fleet - lots of colored light displays and frivolous use of torpedo tubes as each ship passed in salute.

Archer had been trying to catch up with ship's business but found it difficult to focus his thoughts. They would wander wildly from one thing to another, from the terrifying to the mundane. He had insisted on having access to the ship's status reports. Phlox though it was because he was acting as a good captain should, but Archer in truth would have been quite happy to let that ride for now. No, he had hoped that it would give a boost to his mind, help it concentrate. The exercise hadn't worked. He would find himself repeatedly reading the same notes and when he tested himself, he couldn't remember any of it. The struggle to concentrate was disturbing him. He hadn't said anything to Phlox, hoping that it would improve but as yet that hadn't been the case. He sighed. He had a long road ahead of him.

The chirrups of Phlox's creatures kept him anchored to reality and gave him comfort. Perhaps he should talk to Phlox about his worries? After all he did have experience in psychological matters. He would mention it when the Doctor returned from the Mess Hall.

Archer ran a finger over his head, brushing across the areas where the Thraxians had applied their probes, checking each of the six points in turn and in the accustomed sequence. He couldn't help himself. There was a compulsion about it that disgusted him each time he realized what he was doing and wrenched his hand away. And each time, he remembered that white room, the sight of the instruments, the scent of the Thraxian technician as he worked inches from him...

Oh, intellectually he knew that no man could have resisted the procedure. That didn't lessen the numbness of violation, that somehow he was now a lesser person because of it. He knew now without doubt that he could be broken. He had been broken. He had willingly done exactly what the aliens asked of him.

He had been ready to murder Trip! Had actually done it – he had pulled the trigger, hadn't he? He hadn't known the weapon was immobilized.

Rage overwhelmed him – an immense, erupting fury at what they had done to him – charged with a deep hateful shame.

With a sudden jerk, Archer threw the PADD across the room, all his feeble strength invested in the action. It skittered across the floor and came to rest a few scant meters away. He gave a cynical laugh. He couldn't even manage a good temper tantrum!

Leaning back he tried to consider the positive aspects. The nightmare was over. Trip survived. They were back home, the Xindi threat gone, or at least diminished. It depended on what diplomatic progress they made with them, of course, but prospects there were encouraging. He was back with his friends and crew. When he had thought he had lost them forever, he had been almost destroyed but he had kept going. He had a determination didn't he? He still had some redeeming features. And physically, his health was improving steadily. If he could escape from Sick Bay he might find the mental aspects easier to cope with. He decided to try another assault on Phlox's interdict.

The doors swished open to admit a visitor - someone whom he was delighted to see.

"Trip!" called Archer in genuine pleasure, pushing his anxieties to one side. "I hope you can stay around a while this time." Since his faculties had returned, Archer had seen Trip briefly on several occasions, but the Chief Engineer had been so busy with Enterprise, crew requests, Starfleet and Starfleet media consultants that he hadn't been able to spend much time with him, to both men's regret.

Archer sat up, pushing a pillow behind him to provide support.

Trip gave a broad, carefree smile. He strode over, scooping up the discarded PADD, and plopped down in the convenient seat next to Archer's bed. "I've told 'em I'm not to be found if they come looking."

"Who?"

"Anyone!" declared Trip with a laugh, waving the PADD around at the world in general.

Archer gave Trip a slap on his arm. Trip was looking so well, better than he had been during their mission to the Expanse. The dark circles under his eyes had faded and he was altogether livelier, more like his old self. Perhaps less open than before, mused Archer, but then, the Expanse had changed them all.

Trip grinned at him. "You are looking so much better, Captain." He gave an unconscious rub of his temple as he scrutinized Archer's then started and flushed with embarrassment.

"It's okay, Trip," soothed Archer. "It's healing well. It doesn't hurt."

Trip gave a grateful nod. "Good."

Archer smiled. "I'll be up and about soon, although Phlox is insisting I take plenty of sick leave. I told him Enterprise will be therapy enough for me!"

"So who won that argument?" asked Trip teasingly.

Archer laughed. "We haven't finished it yet. I hope you will weigh in on my side, Trip." He gave a wicked grin.

Trip laughed. "What a choice. Stuck between my Captain and the ship's doctor! If you don't mind, I think I'll stay neutral over this one."

The two men grinned, reveling in the start of a return to normality. Trip was proving the tonic that Archer needed.

"How are matters with Starfleet?" asked Archer eagerly. "Admiral Forrest won't tell me much. He says I'm not to concern myself yet."

"Well, they are still going through our mission logs - an initial pass that is. T'Pol and I have given them a quick overview but there'll be plenty more to come. I've got repair teams from Earth all over the ship and as soon as we can, we'll be transferring the crew planetside and taking her over to Jupiter Station for a serious re-fit."

"Any word on Malcolm?" That had been a close call. Lieutenant Reed had so very nearly lost his life. Only Phlox's expertise had saved him and then the excellent follow-up care he was now receiving on Earth.

"I stopped in to see him. He's getting antsy too - keen to escape. He tried to get me to tell the Chief Medic that he was needed back on board. He got pretty shirty with me when I refused." Trip grinned. "So, he's a lot better too. I told him there's no point in rushing because he'll only be in for rounds of debriefs but he said he didn't care!"

"Back to normal, huh?"

"Almost, Captain."

"Did you find out what happened to Malcolm?"

Trip nodded. "Seems he ran into Rav - that's the Thraxian that fancied himself as a Nazi. That's why he was late getting away. " Trip swallowed. "He almost got stranded on that other Earth, or engulfed in the energy stream we released. Either way, it would have been horrific." For a moment, Trip paled, stricken as he imagined the awful possibilities.

Archer put out his hand and gave Trip a squeeze on his shoulder. "We're all back, Trip. Those of us that made it after destroying the weapon."

"Yeah. Uh, there'll be memorial services for those we've lost during the mission to the Expanse, but that'll be some time ahead. They've not set a date yet. They want to talk to you first about it."

Archer nodded gravely. He was determined to be well enough to attend. He owed so much to them. He would never forget them.

Trip glanced down at the PADD and then peered up at Archer from under his eyebrows. "Care to tell me how this ended up over there in the middle of the floor?"

Archer shrugged. "I though it might help."

"And did it?"

"No. Not really." Archer dragged a hand over his face, feeling the smooth continuation where that ugly burn had been. Soon it would be impossible to detect any remnant. He sighed. These days, physical injuries were so much easier to heal but they still had strides to make when it came to the human mind.

Trip looked at him quizzically, noticing the change of atmosphere. "Captain?"

"Nothing, Trip." He tried a smile but it was a failure. An open book of his anxiety.

Trip pursed his mouth. "It's not nothing. You went through some terrible things. They're bound to have an effect. You know you can talk to me?"

Archer met Trip's gaze and imagined him standing before his raised gun, disbelief and terror written on his face. Archer blinked and the vision cleared. "I'm sorry, Trip. So sorry."

Trip bit his lip and dropped his head, concentrating on the PADD in his hands, turning it about end over end. "You don't have to be. You shouldn't be. You did nothing wrong. It was those sonofabitch Thraxians. All of it – you, Earth."

"I know. It doesn't make it easier."

"It should." Trip stopped fidgeting with the PADD.

"I think it will take time." Archer sighed deeply.

Trip leaned forward in his seat and fixed Archer with a sincere gaze. "You can talk to me at any time. You know that."

"Yes, Trip. And thanks."

"You've been there often enough for me, Captain."

"I guess we've been there for each other." Archer smiled. "Umm, changing the subject, I didn't damage that PADD did I?"

Trip shook an index finger at him in mock censure. "Not this time, but you better not let me catch you abusing delicate Starfleet equipment again!"

Archer snorted. "Delicate?! Those things are practicably indestructible!"

"Yeah? Well leave the destruction testing to me will ya?!"

Archer laughed. "Yessir! Pass it over - I promise to look after it."

Trip shook his head and held the PADD out to him. "You better," he growled. He glanced at his chronometer. "Sorry, Captain. I've got some checks to make."

"You get on. Thanks for coming by."

Trip rose. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon."

Archer watched Trip set off with a jaunty step. He felt some of the darkness lift at Trip's infectious good humor.

---------------

T'Pol sat alongside Archer. He was still in Sick Bay but sitting up now. Soon he would be free to go.

T'Pol was reciting the events that had happened while he had been absent from the ship. He had heard parts of the story already, but this was the full version since Phlox had now deemed him to be sufficiently recovered to listen to it all.

Archer was a good listener, and T'Pol was precise in her reporting, so they made swift progress.

T'Pol wondered how much detail she should include concerning their return to their Universe. It was difficult to explain to a non-science specialist. Although the Captain was good at picking up the salient points, he would find it academic at best now.

"Captain, are you certain you wish me to go through this in such depth?" asked T'Pol as she saw his eyes glaze over again.

"Uhh, yes, T'Pol. Keep plugging away. I am listening." He gave a frown of obvious concentration. "Just don't ask me to repeat it, not in any great detail."

She raised an eyebrow at that, and he gave a low chuckle. It was pleasant to have him back again, she reflected. What was that human saying? - 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'.

At least she had now reached a part that was easy to demonstrate. There would be no need of a thorough understanding to appreciate it. With a sideways look at him, T'Pol pulled out the modified scanner and explained how one might identify different sub-quantum signatures, and thus different Universes.

She held the device so he could see the numerical matrix as the scanner was directed towards a nearby wall. "It is set up to analyze high concentrations," she explained, "but the external readings we took worked on low volumes of matter. We had greater computing power available for that, obviously."

"Obviously," he repeated, uncertainly.

T'Pol pulled out a shoe. The one she had obtained from the other Earth.

"You wore that?" exclaimed Archer in amusement, looking from shoe to T'Pol and back again.

"Yes, Captain. As I said, this consists of matter from the parallel Universe. Observe."

She ran the scanner over the shoe, holding it close by. They watched in fascination as the readings changed accordingly and settled on the second set of values.

"Impressive," admitted Archer.

T'Pol gave a modest nod.

"I still don't understand how I ended up on that Earth," he said, rubbing his head.

"Have you remembered anything else?"

He exhaled slowly. "No. I remember being on the Xindi weapon, the explosions going off, and then the next thing I can clearly recall is coming to in the Nazi field hospital. Nothing in between. I don't even know where they found me."

"I have no theory to account for this," said T'Pol.

"Daniels, perhaps? He did talk to me immediately before our assault on the weapon. He seemed keen to keep me in one piece."

"No time travel was involved," reminded T'Pol.

"No, true, but we don't know what else they can do in his time. If they can travel in time, perhaps parallel universes aren't a stretch for them."

"Possibly. I doubt we will find out."

"Not unless I see him again, and I can tell you, I'd really rather not right now." Archer grimaced. Daniels' complications didn't appeal at present.

"If I see Crewman Daniels, I will tell him," said T'Pol with an raised eyebrow for emphasis. Archer laughed, which she found agreeable.

She stood to go. "I have duties to attend to."

"Thank you for going through this with me. I appreciate it."

T'Pol nodded. She reached across to pick up the shoe and the scanner. "I will tell..."

The figures on the scanner were shifting again as she watched, from the set for their own Universe, then to that for the other Earth's as it was directed at the shoe, then to... T'Pol stared wide-eyed at Archer then back to the scanner. No change.

"T'Pol? You okay?" he said in concern, looking up at her as she abruptly stopped speaking.

She breathed deeply, trying to conceal her shock.

"T'Pol?"

She dragged her attention away from the scanner results. From a third set of results.

"Yes, Captain," she managed to say.

"You sound a little off. Are you sure you're resting properly? Meditating?"

"Yes, Captain." Breathe, she told herself, calm. She met Archer's anxious gaze. His... familiar... gaze. "Thank you for your concern. It's merely that... it's good to have you back. The crew has missed you. I've missed you."

She gave a curt nod, and left, switching off the scanner with a decisive click.

Archer watched her go and grinned. She didn't change, he mused. It was so good to be home.

* * *

END

* * *

A/N: And it's a long one to make up for my earlier restraint!

Little did I know on idly speculating 'How are they going to get out of that' after watching 'Zero Hour' that I would come up with something much more ambitious than I had tackled before. It was a big challenge for me and tough going at times, but knowing that there were people out there reading helped me to keep going. I appreciate every contribution. The story is undoubtedly the better for them.

Many, many thanks (and special thanks to those who were able to review multiple chapters) to: Rinne, G. Eliot , Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain, Ocean, vlm, CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur, kelsey, Exploded Pen, tracy-thecubednag, Zenna and nikitee.

So - back to the story. What did you think? General impressions?

I have a few specific questions:

Does the story finish too quickly? I didn't want it to drag on but would additional scenes have been better?

Was the ending pitched right? I didn't want it too be so subtle as to be undetectable unless every detail of the technobabble had been read and remembered. On the other hand, I didn't want to wallop readers over the head with it.

I did consider leaving Malcolm marooned on that other Earth, knowing he would never see Enterprise again, but I thought it would detract from the ending and derail the story. I would have to have given readers some sort of caution I think before going that route too, although there is some foreshadowing. Is false foreshadowing a legitimate thing to do? :)

Anyway, he made it back. :)

They all did, sort of :(


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